#me and the missus down in front

[winewidower]

Ya boy made it!

[chuluoyi]

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

- sylus x reader

you and your lover are hailed and feared, but who would have guessed that behind closed doors, both of you are just that — lovers?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, making out, fluff, comfort, period cramps, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), loosely based on sylus' secret times: midnight warmth & exclusive care!

note: very self-indulgent bye pls don't look at me :') this fic is a companion to assassin!reader series (strictly (un)professional and jealousy incarnate)

“Who’s ther— lord! Missus! What happened to you!?”

On a rainy night, you staggered into the base, drenched and covered with dirt. Your steps were unsteady as you made your way through the front door, and the first person to see you, Luke, was so shocked by the sight that he rushed to your side.

“Kieran! Call Boss!” he shouted to his twin, who immediately sprinted off to find him, steadying you. “Are you injured?”

“No,” you hissed, wincing as you clutched your abdomen. “Let go, I’m fine—” But before you could finish, you missed a step and—

—fell into Luke's arms.

In that very instant, Luke genuinely feared for his life. He squeaked and stammered, incoherent sounds escaping him, because oh lord— if Boss sees me ever touching his woman—

“What are you doing?”

And there came his nightmare. Sylus’ deep voice cut through like a blade, marking the arrival of doomsday itself.

“B-Boss! It isn’t what it looks like!” Luke quivered, desperately trying to explain himself.

However, Sylus paid him no mind and exhaled sharply, immediately moving over to pull you out of Luke’s grasp. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you insisted, pulling away from him while staggering. “I’m not wounded or anything. Just... I just need a bath, please.”

Sylus eyed you from top to bottom. You had just been out for a reconnaissance, and yet you looked as though you had been through a tornado and back. Disheveled, your dress was smeared with mud and dirt, and even grime clung to your hair.

“Did you fall into a sewer or something?” he questioned, and he knew he had hit a nerve when you shot him a glare.

But you spared him no answer, walking away with labored breaths and a hand pressed against your lower belly. It was clear you were in pain, and the sight tugged at him as he followed you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his concern growing. “What hurts?”

“You don’t have to fuss over me—” your breath hitched, feeling exhausted, and ashamed all at once. “Just my period, nothing much,” you murmured in a quieter voice so the twins wouldn’t hear.

As you reached the stairs to the second floor, you felt like collapsing. Did you really have to climb these stairs, too?

As if reading your mind, Sylus let out a sigh, but you nearly squealed when he lifted you into his arms.

“You’ll get dirty!” you rebuked, even as he took large strides up the stairs. “Sylus!”

“Just hold onto me.” He shot you a pointed look. “You can’t even walk without gasping for air, and you still want to climb the stairs? You’ll end up rolling and breaking your back.”

Despite your protests, your lover immediately brought you to his bathroom and sat you down on the sink. He turned the hot water on and then faced you.

“So? What did you get yourself into?” he asked, his red eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction. “You were fine, and you didn’t face anyone.”

You pressed your eyes shut, leaning against the wall, resigned to explain. “Fell into mud. Totally idiotic, I know, but my cramps started right before, so…”

“I don’t recall you experiencing this before. What brought this on?”

You met his gaze indignantly, retorting, “Well, a certain someone banged me so hard last night, and I got my period right after.”

It was quite unexpected, but still answered his concern. So, to that, Sylus snorted and tousled your hair, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Ah, sorry, I guess?”

You pursed your lips, aware of how unapologetic he was. He smirked and added, “Now that I’m dirty too... I suppose we’ll have to take a bath together.”

“Are you mad? Do you want to get covered in my blood?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why not—”

“No,” you retorted firmly, clearly irked. “You take the bath after me, and that’s final.”

. . .

“Put your arm around my neck,” Sylus commanded when you both emerged from the bath and already dressed in silk bathrobes. You complied, and he swiftly lifted you into a princess carry, bringing you to the bed.

Despite yourself, your heart fluttered at his action. He set you down gently, and the moment your back met the soft surface, you relished it and let out an involuntary moan. “Ahh...”

Your voice was soft and sultry, though tinged with a hint of pain. Sylus placed his hand gently on your face. “Your cheeks are warm,” he noted. “And you still look pale.”

"Mmm," you mumbled, suddenly the total fatigue catching up to you as you leaned into his touch. Seeing you so pliant like this seemed to flip a switch inside him, and he immediately settled next to you and placed his huge hand on your lower belly, pressing down on it.

“What are you doing?” you frowned.

“I’m giving you a massage,” he replied. “Stop squirming. I’m trying to pamper you here.”

“You don’t have to…”

“My woman is in enough pain that she doesn’t talk back to me. It’s feels off.”

“...actually, you suck. You’re too rough.”

Taking your whine into account, he adjusted his touch, softening his pressure. "How is it? Better?"

You didn’t immediately reply, indulging in the warm sensation, letting out a sigh as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Mm... Yeah, it feels good now. Don’t stop…”

There was something quietly erotic about watching you, usually so defiant, surrender to his touch like this. Sylus felt a deep, protective satisfaction as he continued his gentle ministrations—

But after a while...

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pulling you closer as he buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of the bath foam you had just shared. “Mmm…”

You were caught off-guard and shivered at his breath tickling your skin, eyes fluttering open. “Sylus…” you murmured, a mix of protest and surprise in your voice.

But he didn’t pull away, his lips lingering against your skin, his gaze fixed on your bare neck, whispering, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Then, when he suddenly nibbled on your neck, you jolted awake. The gentle bite on your sensitive skin sent another shiver down your spine, stirring a mix of warmth that made your pulse race.

But he didn't stop there, as Sylus trailed your neck with a series of kisses and wet sucks, his breath hot against your skin. Soon, the only sounds filling the room were his quiet sighs and the soft noises of his lips as he continued to bite and pepper kisses on your skin, over and over.

“Ngh…” Each touch left you almost breathless, and the heat between you growing with every passing moment, making your toes curl and you moan softly by his ear.

“Hold me,” he gruffly whispered, and as if bewitched, you clung to his shoulders. He let out a husky chuckle. “Not too hard, or you won't be able to sleep later.”

“And whose fault would that be?” you quipped, entangling your legs with his, savoring the warmth of his body against yours.

“I’ve spoiled you rotten, haven’t I... sweetie?” he murmured amidst kisses, his tone laced with intrigue and his burgundy eyes flashing with a glint. “Just let me have my fill for a while.”

If you had a mirror, you’d see the hickeys forming on your neck, but instead of fighting him, you pulled him closer, letting out breathy moans freely and massaging his scalp as if urging him to go further.

“Naughty vixen—you are,” Sylus rasped deliciously in your ear, thick with desire and restraint as his grip on you tightened. “Tempting me, knowing full well I can’t do anything to you…”

A low giggle slipped from your lips. “Unfortunately… I learn from the best.”

Hard to get, snarky, taunting... You were the bane of his existence, and yet Sylus wouldn't have it another way. Your defiance and teasing only deepened his affection, making every challenge you presented feel like an irresistible part of what drew him to you.

He knew when his patience was on the verge of snapping, so to end it, he sucked hard on your shoulder one last time, making sure to leave another mark there. The squelching sound reverberated through both of you, before he pulled away and planted a firm kiss on your forehead, a gesture of both dominance and fondness for you.

“Now sleep,” he grounded out. “Your body has been through enough.”

“Mngh...” you whined, curling into him in contentment, your head nestled against his toned chest where you could feel his strong, steady heartbeat. “Really unfair...”

“You're going to feel better soon...” he sighed, one hand soothing your back and the other resting on your waist. “And as soon as you do...”

A wicked grin curved his lips.

“I'll pick up where I left off.”

[partiallysame]

Being Price’s little wife got me giggling and twirling my hair

Oh look and my feet are swinging too

Oops and now I managed to fall and hurt myself while trying to get something out of my reach or while trying to carry something too heavy into our house

And now its just impossible for me to take care of myself and I need 4 huge brawny capable men to cater to my every need or else I’ll just wither away in pain and despair 😔

Do you have anons? Can I be 🦈?

first and foremost i love you 🦈 lets start there.

but listen you fell down some stairs or slipped or whatever, broke your ankle. Called John from the ambulance (not him first???) The four of them were standing at the hospital before the ambulance even showed up. Had the emts nervous (and swooning) when they tried to take you from them.

"How mad is h?e" you asked when John left the room to do paperwork.

"He'd never be mad at you for getting hurt bonnie" Sweet lil voice coming from soap

"No. How mad I didn't call him first?"

"Absolutely livid" monotone response from Ghost.

For the next 6 weeks they had a schedule (Printed with color coded names and times. Yes Simon is pink and he stopped complaining when he was told you did it). Always two of them at a time. Its not that Price didn't trust his men with you. Good soldiers always listen to orders. butttt he didn't trust his pretty lil wife with the touchy grabby hands around them. He knew you had a type and bringing him x4 into your space was a disaster (dream) waiting to happen.

You weren't allowed to do anything for yourself. food? cut up for you. Wanted to change the channel? no button pushing for the hurt Missus. Going to the bathroom was the most stressful time for them. Pacing outside the door because you wouldn't let them in. "What if something happens??? They need to help you.

Nowwwwwwww shower time. Price made sure he was always home to help you shower. Helping you in so carefully, setting a stool in there so you wouldn't have to stand. Ever so gently washing your hair and your body for you. Made who ever was also in the house wait outside the house completely the first time until you yelled at him. (They had to stand by the front door after that.) but but but oh no you spilled your drink and now you're all sticky. Guess you gotta shower. Simon pleaded for you to wait until Price got back but no one wants to sit in sticky so here you are towel wrapped around your naked body gently holding Simon's hand as he helps you step into the shower. (He made Soap stand by the front door. MacTavish simply could not be trusted alone with you.) Simon stood facing the bathroom door basically holding his breath until he heard a loud noise and a little scream from you. Instantly his hand grabs the curtain to move it to the side ready to scoop you up and take you to the hospital again. But there you are naked. wet. soapy. sitting so pretty on your lil shower stool. looking up at him surprised.

"I just dropped the shampoo Simon. I'm alright." One hand immediately came up to cover his eyes while the other slapped around the bottom of the shower trying to find the fallen shampoo. Big muscle arm now soaking wet as he handed it to you and returned to his spot pressed against the bathroom door. Price was going to gut him for looking at his naked Lil Wife.

[readwritealldayallnight]

When Gaz walks into the bases common room, his goal for making his third cup of tea of the day is diverted when he catches sight of Soap’s expression across the room.

The Scot looks absolutely befuddled, eyes wide and sitting slack-jawed across from his Lieutenant. Gaz walks over to the men, catching the very end of Ghost telling his companion to ‘piss off’.

“Alright?” He asks the lads, raising a brow in question.

“Ye oughta hear the shite LT’s tryin’ to convince me of over here!” Soap is all too eager to inform his friend. Ghost grunts, leaning further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes as far back as he can, as if to tell the Sergeant in front of him ‘this is why I don’t tell you anything’.

Because that’s almost exactly what Ghost is thinking at that moment. He’d just entered the common room when he’d spotted the back of an all too familiar head, fiddling and distracted with the microwave.

When he’d walked up behind the younger man and echoed his call sign out in greeting, his mask hid the smug smirk that appeared at the jump Soap gave, uttering a loud “Shit!” in surprise.

Soap went on to complain about how he was apparently attempting to jumpstart his heart, drawling on about how the Lieutenant was always sneaking up on people like this, moving quiet as a Ghost.

“My missus says the same thing.” The masked man had mentioned casually, as if his chest hadn’t automatically puffed out in pride, standing up a little straighter at the mention of his girl.

“She says you’re too quiet? Aye, LT, think a lot o’ couples have complaints of the sorts in bed ya see-”

“Shut it, you prick.” Ghost quickly shut him down, ending that line of thought. “She says I walk too quietly in the flat. Accidentally scaring her all the time, poor thing.”

At that, Soap’s eyebrows had shot sky high, keen to hear more about the big bad Ghost’s life of apparent domestic bliss, turning him into an absolute sap.

Ghost wouldn’t normally volunteer information about his personal life. But he just loves you so much. And now that he’s not only thinking about you because he is all the time, but also talking about you, his mouth didn’t seem to want to stop talking about you.

“She put her foot down with me recently.” He’d added with a deep chuckle.

“She did what?” Soap had asked bewildered.

“She called it ‘putting her foot down’. I walked up behind her when she was doin’ dishes. Poor bird didn’t hear me and dropped somethin’.”

“Oh, no! Simon! That’s my favourite mug!!” You’d cried out, watching your most treasured ceramic shattering on the tile floor of the kitchen, spreading every which way across the room.

“M’sorry lovie. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He’d sheepishly responded, reaching to turn off the running faucet. He’d grabbed the dish towel and gave it to you to dry your hands, lifted you by the waist and set you on the counter with ease, not wanting you to get hurt with your bare feet. He’d turned, already in search of a broom and dust pan.

“Again. You mean I’m sorry for scaring you again.” You had corrected him, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t take it anymore Simon. You don’t need to be stealthy at home, my love, you can make noise when you walk. In fact I need you to make noise when you walk at home!”

Simon had nodded along, diligently sweeping up every piece of your ruined mug.

“I’ll try harder sweetheart. I promise.” He’d offered, dumping the remnants into the bin before he’d walked up to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as yours slid around his shoulders.

The very next weekend he’d taken you to a local pottery painting class to make up for the lost mug, as well as you telling him off (because yeah, that was what Simon considered you putting your foot down with him, and he never wanted it to happen again if he could help it).

Ghost finds himself grinning further under his mask at the memory however, of how cute you looked as you tried to raise your voice at him, laying down the law in your shared home.

“And so what’d ya tell her?” Soap asked, curious to know how his Lieutenant had reacted, but more so if the man would even reply or rather would tell him to fuck off.

“I didn’t tell her anythin’.” Simon had uttered. “Did as my missus asked me to do, and that was the end of the story. Well, s’pose I did I tell her I’d look into mug making classes or whatever.”

“…”

“You what?!”

[lxvvie]

Couples Shit with Simon Riley (Part 2):

Having a giggle/chuckle fest almost every time you are intimate. It first happened at the beginning of your relationship when you would giggle every time you two kissed. It opened the floodgates, had let that nervous energy out, and Simon was right there chuckling with you. ("Heh—aw, fuck me.")

Swearing up and down that you're gonna fuck each other's brains out but as soon as you hit the bed, you and Simon are out like a light. The last time this happened, he was supposed to go down on you, but the next thing you know, you woke up to him fast asleep with his head on your stomach.

Kissing the bridge of his crooked nose and Simon turning into putty every time. Hell, kissing any and every dent, bruise, and scar, and making your man melt.

A nice round of horizontal tango turning into a cuddle session after you comforted Simon through a charley horse. Poor baby.

Initially making the telly watch you two make sex but turns out whatever you're watching was pretty decent after all so you guys are back to watching the telly again.

Getting hot and heavy one time but you were so intrigued with the mole you discovered on Simon's inner thigh that you spent the next half-hour or so trying to find other moles on his body.

Telling Simon that you "always wanted to do this" and when you get him hot, bothered, and hard, it turns out what you always wanted to do was measure him. His disappointment was immeasurable... even if he was interested to know the number.

Twinning in some way, shape, or fashion whenever you're out together.

Talking mad shit about his snoring but let him tell it, he doesn't say shit when you take up about 80% of the bed, covers, and sleep under him.

Speaking of talking shit, having disagreements like every couple does and when you go to bed, you're angrily cuddling each other. And yes, Simon still wants your kisses in the morning, even if you two are still mad at each other. Simon doesn't give a shit, you're still gonna love on him, dammit. And him on you.

Being mad with Simon when he arrived too late to get the creepy crawler that was harassing you. Harassing you by doing what it does best: be a creepy crawler. Simon tells you you'll have to conquer your fear one day. You tell him to conquer the couch tonight lmao.

Agreeing to disagree about the superior ice cream flavor in the house. It's too bad there's not any of his favorite ice cream in the freezer. There's some of yours, though. Why? You didn't get any because it was so superior that you wouldn't "dare sully it with your hands". Cue the judgemental stare and him eating YOUR ice cream afterward. Rude.

Scaring the ever-living shit out of Simon on the rare occasions he gets to sleep in. He woke up to you sitting up in bed with his mask and paint on. Oh, and he calls bullshit. He did not nearly fall out the bed. Nor did he jump. Okay, Simon.

Chilling and drinking with Simon. Finding out he gets hot and sweaty pretty easily and off comes his clothes. Waking up hungover the next morning and you're the big spoon to a naked and equally hungover Simon. Choosing to do fuck all but sleep it off that day.

Playfully calling or referring to him as the Missus, especially in front of your co-workers. When they finally meet Simon and ask him who he is, he replies in pure deadpan Ghost fashion: "The Missus".

[manicrouge]

‘It’s cannae be that difficult,’ Soap scoffed, watching as the masked man fiddled with the pieces of string in his hand.

‘She mentioned in er letter that she’s been buying handmade bracelets from this market back in Manchester,’ Simon said, ‘thought I’d give it a shot myself.’

‘Aye, Lt. but your hands ave only ever brutalised thing… ye no bracelet maker. More of a necklace maker — ye know, like a noose—’

‘Shut it,’ he snarled, looking down at the loosely woven bracelet in his hand, ‘she wanted me to make somethin’ for er, so I am.’

‘Could’ve just asked me to draw er somethin’,’ Soap chuckled, pushing himself up off of the doorframe. ‘Or are ye scared am gonna steal ye missus?’

‘Go away,’ huffed the other, focusing back on his bracelet, ‘I swear to fuck all you ever do is give me a fuckin’ headache, go an’ bother Price.’

Soap disappeared down the hall, leaving Simon to figure out the complicated and strenuous task of making a bracelet, ‘Fucks sake,’ he sighed, finally tying the ends together, holding it in the palm of his hand in front of him.

Part of him was convinced it would have been an insult to send that to you; there was hardly any talent to be found in his creation (at least, that’s what he thought) as the plaited yarn was hardly neat. Only, he bit the bullet and added it into the envelope with the letter he had messily scribbled.

And, for the first time ever, he felt anxious… over a stupid fucking bracelet.

—

It took a while for him to hear back, counting on the fact that after making the bracelet he’d been called by Price on another mission. In fact, he’d forgotten about the entire conundrum until he sat on his bed in his room with your envelope in his hand. When he opened it, a black and white beaded bracelet fell onto his lap, as did a loose polaroid you had taken.

A smile met his face when he saw you wearing the pesky bracelet with the brightest smile on your face. Setting the photo down, he opened your letter.

I love the bracelet so much Si! I thought I’d make you one myself too so we could have matching ones. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to though, I just thought it would be a nice gift for you.

Taking the bracelet in his hand, he closed his fist around it as he continued to read through your letter.

—

‘Nice piece of jewellery you got there, Lt.,’ Soap sniggered, bringing his mug of tea to his lips before adding, ‘how much did it set ye back, ey?’

‘Shut up, Johnny.’

—

[beloveds-embrace]

More poly!141 please and thank you my dear 🥰🤗

Anon is banished to the timeout corner to ponder on their grievances

That trope of roommates reader x poly 141…

Imagine you are Desperate with a capital D. Things aren’t lookinh bright for you, broke and stressed college student, right now in general, you need a new place quickly, and as it happens, you see an all-too-good offer while apartment searching on Craigslist. Rent is within your budget and god, the place looks really good, but…

You’ll have to share with four men. Four polyamorous men apparently, but still- men. More than one. That alone should’ve made you give up on it, not even think about considering it. It’s dangerous, incredibly so. No one within their right mind would agree to it, especially when you read that they are asking for someone who is willing to take up a good bulk of taking care of the place while they travel.

It’s clearly a scam. A front to a dangerous group.

But the apartment is even better when you actually, stupidly, agree to it. The (military, you learn soon enough) men so very handsome, helping you move in your stuff- the way Price commanded them actually made your knees tremble just a little, but you are not about to get between anyone’s relationship(s).

Moreover; you really like them. Soap is funny but he’s also the one who tries to stay up with you during your late exam studies. Keyword tries because he falls asleep anyways, head lolling on your shoulder only to end up getting carried by Ghost later.

Gaz is also funny, and he often forces you to go out when you hole up yourself for long lengths of time, get some fresh air on a walk that almost always leads to him treating you to coffee and sandwiches in the little corner bakery. Also the only one to share your love for horror movies so he’s your designated partner for whenever you wanna go to the cinemas.

Ghost and Price are your unofficial guard dogs. Grocery shopping? One or both of them tags along, carrying everything without letting you touch a single thing-

“What kind of man would let a lady carry groceries? I’m not weak, sweetheart. Let go of that bag, just see what else we’ll need.”

Ghost just stares straight down at you; no balaclava, but a black surgical mask and his hood drawn up. “Don’t even think about it.”

-and they are both bulky. They don’t even have to try to appear intimidating, everyone almost subconsciously makes way for them. Never in your entire life have you had easier shopping trips. And you’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve stirred awake to find yourself carried to your bed after accidentally falling asleep on the couch.

They were not lying about the lengths of time they are gone, and you understand why they had put in that ad that landed you here in the first place. Once, they were away for months, and they have no contact with you. You always worry for them, regularly checking for any possible texts and sending them updates even when no reply comes.

(You have no ideaaa they have you saved as ‘lil missus’, ‘wifey’, ‘the madame’, ‘darlin’ in their phones. Or how much they cling to your texts even when they can’t reply yet. You don’t suspect shit, but the longer the mission drags on, the more resolved they are to just come home to you as soon as possible.

The second John checks his phone and sees your text about getting stood up on a date, his jaw clenches so tightly that Soap glances over, immediately concerned. The others quickly catch on, a tension settling over the group as he reads the message aloud.

Got stood up on that date lol

Guess its just me nd a frozen pizza tonight 🤷‍♀️ yes ik u hate frozen foods but ur not here sooo

If he wasn’t so incredibly angered by the thought of you going on a date that is not with them, getting stood up, he would have focused on your little disobedience. Would have thought of making you repeat why he hates having them in the flat while you sniffle and whine, the result of him taking his palm to your ass a few dozen times for doing this behind his back, but he can’t focus on that now.

“Let’s finish this and get home,” He hisses out at last, pocketing his phone. “Missus needs a reminder who she belongs to.”

All he gets, unsurprisingly, is approving nods.)

Back in the flat, you sneeze. How strange; you had just recently finished dusting, and everything should be clean.

It’s probably nothing.

a bit more | roommate au masterlist

[bunny-jpeg]

well behaved

capt. john price

tags: smut/pwp, married life, wife!reader, husband!price, (house) wife kink, dresses, missionary position & mating press, misogyny, darker themes

price ran his team tightly. he had to. it was life or death, and the manner in which he ran his team, he saw great success. so it was only natural for price to run his home the same way. while it wasn't like a military task force, it was still ran with set roles and tasks for all members. he was the husband and you the wife.

and being the wife of john price meant tasks steeped in tradition. price wanted a proper woman to be his wife and expected only the best from you.

"don't touch those, john." you smacked price's hand away lightly, "they're for dinner, silly." then leaned over to kiss him on the lips.

"ah, sorry, lovie. couldn't help myself." he replied, "you know how much i love watchin' ya cook dinner. even the carrots." he leaned over and pinched your behind as he watched you continue to cook for a moment longer. his gaze lingered for a moment before he went back to the living room to watch the same.

that was your task, to take care of the home. you cooked price's meals and served it to him. he loved your cooking, to him you cooked like a proper chef and you were all his!

you got the roast out of the oven and asked in your sweet tone, "honey, do you want to eat at the table or in front of the television?"

"table's good, petal." he replied before he got up with a slight huff from the couch and with his beer headed to the table. he watched you serve dinner and when you finally sat down, you had your own plate of dinner. the missus gotta eat too!

price eyes the roast,but then eyed you across the table. in the dress you wore. you often wore dresses and fine jewellery. you had to look like a respectable wife after all! not the slags who called themselves 'barrack bunnies' that mactavish brought him. you were price's good girl.

before you could start your meal, price gestured for you to come to him for a moment. you obeyed and price pulled you onto his lap. he kept a strong arm around you. "my missus made this all for me, huh?" he pulled you a little closer. he got some of the mashed potatoes on the fork and fed it to you.

you replied, "no, you eat!"

"oh, don't worry. if i'm still hungry. i'll just have you." he said as his thick fingers touched your inner thigh. "pretty thing." he cooed as he played with your soft skin as he ate. in the process he fed you parts of his dinner.

price's task of the unit was to work and take care of you. you took care of the home and he made sure you wanted for nothing. if the rock on your finger was anything to go by, you were well taken care of.

"mmm, john. honey."

he chuckled beofre he kissed your cheek, "gotta take care of the wife. can't have an unhappy home." he continued to eat, only pulling his hand away from you when he had to cut the meat with a steak knife.

but even your amazing roast was nothing compared to your sweet cunt. that of course meant that you couldn't even finish cleaning up the dishes before your husband had you hoisted into his arms and headed to the bedroom.

price loved to keep you up. only right for a husband to feel up his wife. he loved his big, calloused hands on your round behind or your soft hips. he groped you as he unzipped your dress once he finally put you down on the bed. he then got you out of your string of pearls. you really did live a fairly charmed life.

your husband continued to strip you free of your clothes and he licked his lips at the sight of you when you were in only your push-up bra. he then got you out of it then felt up your bare breasts. he toyed with your nipples using his thumbs.

"my woman." he said, "nabbed yourself an older man who loved to make a mess of your pretty pussy. your love men who are bigger, hairier and who can fold you in half to ruin your cunt." he eyed you up and down, "i bet she misses me, huh?"

you blushed even more and you ended up splayed out in bed under your husband. he rubbed your hefty cock up against you. you swallowed when you felt the blunt head right up against you.

"my beautiful wife. so perfect for me. from the meals you cook to the cunt that keeps my boys safe. no need to masturbate when i got myself a wife to fuck every night. making me food, keepin' my house clean. you have no need to think too hard when you have a husband to do it for you." he sank into you and he watched your back arch. your cunt tight around him as he started to fuck you.

mrs. price's cunt was heaven on earth.

"mmm, john!" you whined loudly. the blunt head of your husband's cock hit deep inside of you. it felt like he was past your cervix and you knew very well that john price was a womb bruiser.

he continued to move against you, he eyed you as he thrusts. he admired your soft breasts. they moved as price rocked into you. it left him hypnotized. price kept his weight onto you, he kept you pinned to the bed. you were his wife and you'd take every inch he gave you. you whined under him and he admired you. every curve you held. the softness of your body. you were a heavenly, beautiful goddess. price's loving wife.

he bullied his cock inside of you. your burly, string husband who could melt you with the warmth of his love. while your marriage was a little more traditional and a little unconventional but, you felt more loved and adored than with any other man you could ever love. your older, strong husband would always love you. he'd die for you. so it was only fair you kept him satisfied

and that wasn't hard given how obsessed he was with your pretty little cunt. no other way to die than between the legs of his missus. "you're beautiful under me, lovie. you look like heaven under me. takin' me like no one else." he chuckled, "that's my petal, takin' your husband beautifully."

you moaned a little louder as he continued to fuck your soaked cunt. this was everything. price didn't need a woman with a forty hour work week. no, he needed a wife to care for the home. to care for him. you spoiled him with love and he spoiled you with whatever you desired. whatever you craved.

that was what a proper man did for his wife, he made sure you were taken care of. he loved the sight of you as he fucked you. your knees were hiked up and his cock pushed into your further given the new angle. price knew he was a bruiser and he loved it when his pretty little wife's pussy took him. the sweet thing he got to make a mess of every night.

he moved further and laid heavy kisses on you. he couldn't get enough of you. you drove him mad. no wonder he did everything to make sure you were taken care of.

he was addicted to his wife, his little housewife.

"ah, honey." you moaned a little louder, the pleasure was realy working through you. right up to your core. price's heavy thrusts sent shocks through your blood and your achy core yearned for him. he was a good husband. a traditional one, but he loved you and you loved him. you tensed up at the hot feeling in your gut. everything felt alive in your body was you needed him. you relied on your husband, even for things like orgasms.

"ah, please!" you whined loudly. you sounded almost desperate as price fucked you faster. you felt the fire in your belly as he nudged his cock up against you.

price's pace lost focus and the man was relying on instinct to get you both to climax. you felt the immense heat take you over as the older man roughly fucked you. your sweet moans sounded whorish as he made you finish.

"beautiful petal. you know how to drive me crazy." he laugh, a little out of breath as he worked your achy pussy through climax. the stimulation made your mind go blank for a moment. he loved you, he loved your cunt. loved it so much that he didn't last much longer. it was like you had him under a spell. anything you want, you got.

price fucked you through his climax and made sure every drop of him was safe in your gummy soft pussy. he pressed his forehead against yours when he slowed to a stop. he kissed you lazily with a lot of tongue as he pressed his softening cock as deep as i would go. you made the ideal wife for him.

and in return price did anything for his missus <3

[shotmrmiller]

I'm your only situationship.

A/N : yall i stayed up til 324 am writing this. I felt like if i went to bed still only having it as a thought and not on 'paper' thats unacceptable. If i gotta think about this then so do yall! it was also supposed to be a small one shot but it got wildly out of hand im not sorry.

18+ MDNI

TW: typical smut, EXPLICIT mmkay im talkin clutch ur pearls explicit.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Simon had finally come home from a grueling 6-month mission. All he wanted was some Kentucky bourbon with you at your favorite seedy bar. 

Once he was home, Simon cleaned up, put on a black clinical mask, and sent a text to you to meet him there. As he finished his first glass of the night, a rather attractive young woman approached him, asking if she could buy him a drink. 

“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around, lovie?”

“Not at all. This is after all the 21st century. I’m simply asking— wouldn’t want any missus at home getting upset.”

“There’s no one at home for me, lass.”

“Well then, how about you get yourself another glass, my treat, and we’ll see where this night takes us?” 

He slightly nodded —he’d never say no to a free drink— and as she left to order a drink, he took his phone out to text you again.

“C’mon, pet. I’ll cover the tab. Too good f’me, now?”

His phone vibrated a minute later.

“I can’t today, Si.”

“Why not? I know you don’t go out on Sundays.”

As the young woman came back, drinks in hand, he lifted the screen to read your response.

“I’ve got a dick appointment~ It’s been a year and then some and I’m gonna claw at my walls if I don’t get a fix ASAP.”

Simon goes tense— soft blues hardening to a silver and he’s gripping his phone so hard it might crack. He pulls up your contact and calls you within seconds.

“Hiya, Si!” 

“What the fuck is a dick appointment?”

“Oh,” you giggle. “I forget you older folk don’t know ‘bout that. It’s just a one-night fling. No commitments or nothin'.’ Exactly what I need right now.” You don’t tell him that the reason you’ve practically regrown your hymen is that when you’re best friends with Simon, every other male in existence pales in comparison. 

“Anyway Si-, he’s getting here in like an hour-”

“No.” And hangs up. 

The young woman who’s casually rubbing his bicep and shoulder gets practically flung off of him, as he gets up off the bar stool so fast it’s falling back with a loud clang, and he’s yanking his leather jacket on and pulling on his leather gloves so hard they’re about to become fingerless—

“Hey! I thought you didn’t have a girlfriend?!”

One gloved hand gripping the front door, he turns his head slightly to her and says, “Pet, with how good I’m gonna fuck her, she won’t even have to ask to know she’s mine.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You’re standing in the bathroom with your liquid eyeliner in one hand and phone in the other, staring at the ended call screen. ‘Weird,’ you think, then shrug and put the phone down. ‘Maybe the call got dropped.’

You finally complete the look with your false lashes when there’s a very hard knock on your door. You frown as you look at your phone screen. ‘7:14 pm’. You know the guy said at 8 and you’re in one of Simon’s big shirts he always forgets and your hair is still tied up in an oversized pink and white polka dot scrunchie— The pink leopard print booty shorts you’ve got on will suffice. 

The second time there’s a knock it’s even louder. 

“Jesus Christ, I’m coming!” 

You open the door and say, “I’m sorry I took so long, I—”

Simon flies past you, with a rough shoulder bump and you turn to look at him and he’s almost sprinting to the bedroom, slamming the door open—

“Simon, what the fuck? What’re you doin—”

“Where is he?”, he snarls.

“Who?! Are you talking about my date? He’s not getting here til 8! And why’re you slamming doors in my apartment like you pay my rent?!”

You see Simon deflate immediately at the important part of your answer and chooses to ignore the rest as he takes off his jacket and walks to your hall closet to hang it. Closing your door and locking it, you growl out,

“You need to leave. I haven’t even finished getting ready. I promise I’ll—”

“No, pet.”

“Will you quit interrupting me! Simon, I swear—”

“Pet.” 

You’re holding a scream behind your teeth, about to rip the hair out of your scalp when you see Simon take one loop of his mask off from around his ear and then the other. You gape. You’ve seen Simon without his mask— that isn’t the reason you can no longer find your voice. It’s the way he put his gloved middle finger in between his teeth and pulled it off so sensually. You can feel your cheeks and ears radiate heat from just seeing the tip of his pink tongue. Christ, you’re down horrendously.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, to distract yourself from the fact that you’re getting wet over an interaction so chaste when Simon is touching your ass, giving it a hard squeeze, before moving down to the back of your thighs and lifting you up. You startle at the movement and throw your arms around his neck out of habit, hoping he won’t drop you in the move to your bedroom.

He presses you against the wall with his hips, then grabs both of your ankles from behind his lower back and hooks the back of your knees over his forearms. Simon noses your jaw and starts grinding his clothed erection deliciously hard over the definitely wet spot on your shorts and growls out, 

“If you think,” grind “that I’m gonna allow My,” grind “Girl,”  grind—and you whimper in his ear,  “get fucked by some little cock two pump chump,” he gives a forced chuckle, “you must be daft, pet. Or maybe you’re doing it on purpose, eh? Trying to get my attention? Well, you’ve got it now. “ 

He moves his face to hover his lips over yours— you can lightly smell the bourbon he drank earlier— and he whispers, “You ever like this and I’m around, you come to me. And if I’m away, you wait for me like a good girl and when I come back I’ll give this,” he taps your pussy over your shorts, “greedy little cunt all the cock it can take.”

With a shaky breath, you nod before he kisses you, his bourbon-flavored tongue curling against yours, and you’re moaning into it because you’ve wanted this for too long and he’s finally touching you. Curling your fingers into his ash-brown hair, you move your mouth to his neck, to the right of his adam’s apple, took a bit of skin between your teeth and sucked. 

Simon hisses, dips his fingertips into your flesh hard enough to bruise, and all but yanks you off the wall to toss you onto your bed. 

You yelp as you bounce from the force of his throw— you’re still bouncing on the bed when Simon grabs the waistband of your shorts and knickers to pull right off, which you’re grateful for because the grey knickers you got on aren’t what anyone would wear for a first, second nor third impression.

Simon grabs both of the back of your knees with one hand,  goddamn bear paws, you think, before you feel his tongue in between your lips— so warm and wet and fuck, you needed this, needed him— and he flicks his tongue up and down on your clit. He sticks his long middle finger into you and it goes in without resistance, you’re slippery, drooling over his wrist and finger that’s curled up into the rough patch of nerves against your gummy walls, that he’s pressing into, over and over. God you’re about to come, your legs shake in his one-handed hold and you’ve got a white knuckle grip on the forearm you’re sinking your nails into—

Simon pulls away. You were so close, your eyes start watering because he can’t possibly be this mean to you but then you see him shove his tongue in between his middle and ring finger, eating up your nectar when he says, “The first time I’m gonna make you come, it’ll be on my cock. I want to see the frothy white cream you're gonna leave at the base.” 

You’re nodding hysterically at this point, anything for him to make you come, anything for him.  With a twirl of his index, he’s telling you to get on all fours. Scrambling, you turn over and arch your back— resting your head on your forearms— and you feel his calloused palms run down from your spine to your ass cheeks before he gives it a spank. 

“You have a condom?” 

You shake your head and you mewl out, “No, but I’m clean.”

“Good. I don’t want anything between us.”

You arch your back further, pressing your ass further into his hips when you hear his belt buckle clank and zipper open. Simon brings his palm to your other cheek, reddening it. 

“Fuckin’ hell, pet. Look at you spread out for me.” 

You feel warm velvet over steel over your slit before he slowly pushes inside, not all the way but about a little over half of his length, remembering that your g-spot is a little closer to the front. Fast, relatively shallow thrusts hitting your spot with almost clinical precision have you reeling, your orgasm about to break you, mind and body. Hands tightening painfully, you shatter— loud, high-pitched whines, ringing in your ears and pussy pulsing around Simon’s thick girth— and god, Simon doesn’t stop thrusting. He keeps the same smooth rhythm and you’d think he’s unaffected by the tight vice your pussy has him in— but you hear him, low, deep groans and a tighter grip on your hips telling you otherwise. 

He pulls out to bend over your back, completely covering it, and he murmurs in your ear, “I hope you didn’t think we were done. My girl wanted a fuckin’, now she’s gonna get it.” 

He takes off your pink, silly scrunchy and you see it around his tattooed wrist before he grabs your hair into a makeshift ponytail and is leaning back up and forcing your back to arch under his pull. You feel his leg at the height of your hips— propped up, foot flat on the bed and knee bent and the other straight on the floor and all you can think of is how this man is gonna kill you with his cock. 

Simon snaps his hips forward, fist full of hair pulling back,  stretching and filling in one strong thrust, bottoming out. He gives you no reprieve, no time to get used to how fucking deep he is, and sets an intense, firm pace that has you feeling a pinch below the navel every time his hip bones slap against your ass, balls to the clit and you love it. Every pinch in your lower belly has your pussy making a squelching sound and you can’t help yourself— you reach underneath your body to feel how split open you are with two fingers, encasing his cock and feeling the skin drag with them as he pulls out.

That has him hissing air between his teeth, he’s about to come but doesn't want it to be over so he pulls out, and opens your cheeks to spit in your furled hole, before pressing in with the pad of his thumb, and you’re almost screaming. He moves back a bit further to spit in your pussy, not that you need it— you’re drenching the sheets underneath you— and now he’s spearing you with his tongue before curling it, getting your juices pooled on it before coming back up, lips smacking, and he grabs your hair in his ponytail and now he uses his other hand to curls his fingers and palm over the front of your throat and that's all it takes for your vision to darken and arms go limp but he’s again, fucking you through your orgasm and this time you leave a creamy white ring at the base of his length. 

“Oh, fuckin hell.” He groans out and it sounds desperate and you know he’s close.

“Come in me, Simon. Please fill me up, I promise I’ll keep it all in.”

He gives a strained chuckle and says, “Pet, I can barely pull out of a driveway much less this tight little cunt.” He squeezes your throat hard, strands of hair popping out of your scalp and his cock feels massive, the pinch in your stomach feels like a cramp from how deep he is and he lets out a low drawn out moan that lasts 3 thrusts— and then there’s warmth filling you up, so much so it leaks from the sides of where you two are connected. Simon lets go of your hair and you fall face-first onto the bed, exhausted. Defeated. Back properly broken. You officially know what it’s like to get fucked within an inch of your life and you love it. 

He pulls out slowly, with a hiss from both of you and with one hand on your left cheek, he spreads you to look at your stuffed hole.

“Fuck. I love seeing me drip out of you.” 

You’re about to tell him to sod off when the doorbell rings and the both of you stiffen and lock eyes. With a mean snarl, Simon grabs a towel from your bathroom and his mask before stomping his way to answer the door, pink obnoxious scrunchy still on his wrist.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[leviathanleva]

Caffè Crema

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!FemReader]

After months of giving your all to a man you barely even knew, you're finally rewarded. He takes off his mask in front of you almost hesitantly and you're overjoyed. Still, you want to, need to know why and so despite your better judgement, you ask him only to receive a laugh in response.

“Wan’ed you to see what the father of yer kids looks like, Birdie.”

[5.1k words] [Slightly NSFW]

Chapter 3 "Powder"

Simon had expected tension when he’d relied to you the news that he was leaving on deployment soon. But no, you were as chipper as ever, rolling your sleeves instantly and beginning to prepare him for the journey while bombarding him with questions.

It was…different, in a good way. There was no guilt for having to abandon you to fulfill his duty. You were worried, that much was clear, but you didn’t let it bother you enough for him to have to figure out a way to comfort you before leaving.

He was grateful even if he didn’t show it, hoping that the crinkled skin in the corners of his eyes was enough of an indicator.

He stretched lazily on your small couch, feet tucked under your bum as per your usual arrangement, while you absentmindedly folded his freshly washed clothes back into his duffle bag. A random sports channel is playing on the telly, drowning out the silence while he watches you fuss with a shadow of a smile hidden under his mask.

A pile of dry laundry was splayed over the armrest you were leaning against and you plucked each piece with the utmost care, looking over it for any spots that the washing machine hadn’t been able to get rid of before laying into his bag.

“Is this a bullet hole?” You murmur to yourself while looking over a gray knitted blouse, particularly at the edge of one sleeve where the stitching was ruined. You run your thumb over the hole, brows furrowing as you inspect it, then turn to Ghost with a small frown. “There’s a bullet hole in this one. You wanna keep it?”

When he realizes your question is targeted at him, he blinks away the thoughts swirling in his head and shrugs.

“Keep i’, adds character.”

You snort, but fold it regardless and stuff it with the rest of his clothes.

A distant whistling erupts from the kitchen and you stand to dust off the lint from your sweats before scurrying to get the kettle. It doesn’t take long before you reemerge with two steaming mugs in each hand and set one before him on the coffee table. He grumbles out a thank you while sitting up and tugging his mouth free from his mask.

Back tea with milk, just how he likes it, piping hot in a mug big enough for him to comfortably wrap his hand around.

“Gonna make a real good missus.” Ghost murmurs out casually and picks up the mug before taking a prolonged sip and letting his eyelids close at the familiar flavor.

“Yeah? Well, you’d make an awful husband.” You joke, playing along with the innocent understanding that he’s joking and not trying to figure out how to get your ring size without making it obvious. You kick at his knee with your own, a playful smile tugging on your lips. “You never fight with me over anything. Even when I try new cooking recipes off the internet.”

He mulls over your words for a moment, eyes focused on his steaming beverage.

“Didn’ leave no marks on me las’ night. Can complain abou’ tha’.”

“Jesus Christ, Simon.” You gasp and sputter to place a palm over his mouth, thrusting yourself into him as he fights off your flailing hands with ease. “Don’t say such things!”

“Why no’? ‘m just ‘aving a fight with me wife is all.” His teasing doesn’t relent but he lets you press your weight on him and guide him down into the cushions of the sofa. There’s a rumble coming from his chest, a series of snorts as he watches you struggle to keep from becoming completely flustered.

“Oh my God, stop! Stop it!” you’re already a flushed mess, he can feel your face burning from his position beneath you as you fight your wrists free from his loose grip.

“Tryin’a mount me like you did las’ nigh’, Birdie?” His hands come to rest on your waist, the words slipping past him just before you press both your palms against his mouth with a doe-eyed look on your face. He holds you steady, a wolfish smirk making his canines peak beneath his upper lip.

For a moment he thinks your abashed state will hit its limit and you might faint right on the spot, what will the uneven breathing and shaky arms, flared nostrils and quivering bottom lip.

“Shut! Shhh. No more sinful talk. Awful man you are, I’ll never marry you.”

An empty threat that only makes his smirk grow as his chocolate browns twinkle up at you adoringly. It doesn’t cross his mind even for a second that you’re unaware of just how serious he is and how much planning has gone on inside his thick skull over the past few days.

It’s okay, you don’t need to fret over such things, all you need to do is say yes when he finds you a pretty enough ring.

“Gonna behave now, old dog?” You ask and hesitantly free his mouth before settling down on top of him and crossing your arms, a hint of a victorious aura to your puffed-out chest and twitchy smile.

He pats your bum ever so gently and sits up abruptly, causing you to slide into his lap. The power imbalance tips in his favor as soon as he’s looming over you, wide shoulders and muscly arms making you nearly disappear in his embrace. He bumps his nose into yours, head bent down to your level and tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

You swallow thickly, your heart leaping in your throat and staying there as he lingers just on the edge of kissing you. And he’s already pawing at the waistband of your bottoms, greedily trying to slip his thick fingers beyond and toward the comfortable warmth of your sex.

A shiver crawls up your spine and a pleasant tingle settles low in your tummy. Your head snaps towards the digital clock propped above the TV.

“Stop it.” You scold, push him away from sniffling at your neck like a curious wolf and again on his back before slipping out of his lap. “Greedy old dog. I have to go shopping or else you’ll be having fried air with a side of nothing.”

A displeased grumble reaches your ears as you make your way towards the bedroom, intent on changing. You scoff, roll your eyes at your roommate’s childish pouting. Flicking the lights on, you trudge towards your wardrobe, your shared wardrobe although shared was a very generous way of putting it. Aside from a pile of boxers and socks and the occasional black top, there wasn’t much of Simon’s attire.

You wondered if this was all he had while slipping into a pair of jeans, thought over the fact that he did look like a guy who’d be caught dead before going out clothing shopping. It was a sad realization, you made a mental note to buy him some more things when your next paycheck arrived or when he decided to leave another wad of cash on the kitchen counter and label it as rent money.

At least he had a toothbrush, even though with how used and abused it looked, you considered getting him a new one alongside other male toiletries like soap that didn’t smell like wildflowers and shampoo that was a bit less strawberry scented.

After donning a comfy hoodie and walking to the hallway to put on your shoes, you glance at him and see him molding into the couch while his stare is glued to the screen and his brow is visibly lowered in displeasure.

“You can either sulk or you can come with me and get your blood going.” You suggest and straighten up once you’d tied your laces. He didn’t budge, only gave you a side glance. So you try again, more softly this time. “I’d like the company.”

You bat your lashes at him prettily, toss him a girlish smile and coquettishly slip on your jacket and he’s just a man after all, he gets up and pats down his top before joining you.

Coaxing him to do anything was never difficult, all that was needed from you was to look weak and cute and like you’d yield the moment he lumbered over to you. You liked to think you were special and that he wouldn’t bend the knee to just anyone, but then again you hadn’t seen Simon interacting with other people.

Most of your time together, all of your time together, was spent within the confines of your home. Ghost wasn’t one for going out, he was selfish like that, liked you all to himself, and with your attention nowhere else to be set except for him and his needs. You didn’t mind, it was cute in a way. He was needy and touch-starved even if he refused to admit it aloud.

Poor old dog, you’d take good care of him.

Although while you were locking the front door and felt him hook a pinkie finger around yours and lead you down the stairs, you got to thinking. Maybe you were more of a dog than him. You were the one bowing your head to his every wish and did anything you could think of to please him. It was one of your greatest pleasures to slave over him because he’d been so tired and beaten down when you’d first kind of “adopted” him.

Then again, he’d sort of made you adopt him. He’d just brought his things over and hadn’t left. You were certain he would have if you’d just said something, but you never had, you hadn’t confronted him about any of the weird things he’d done so far. Maybe it was too late now or maybe he’d just bury himself between your legs and lap at you until you were near unconscious like the last time he had when you’d seemed displeased. Or maybe he’d actually disappear and never come back and even though you’d known him for a couple of months, something sinisterly painful jabbed at your heart at just the image.

No, this was fine. You were happy to have him. Right…?

The grocery store wasn’t too far away, you could get to it on foot easily. Although something felt off. As you walked down the street with Simon in tow, you noticed the quick, ridged glances you were receiving from people of all kinds of ages. Some of them even made the effort of walking out of your way or taking sharp turns to avoid the two of you.

It was an odd experience, one that also subtly tickled a particular pleasure gland in your brain.

Was this what having a scary dog privilege was like? If so, then you were having the time of your life.

If only people knew what an actual sweetheart your companion was, they’d double over laughing at their first assumptions. But they never would because Ghost was yours.

When you picked up a cart that required both your hands to steer, you felt a tug at your jeans and glanced down to see he had hooked one finger around the belt strap on your side. You offer him a soft snort and try to bite back the grin that was growing on your face.

The place was full as expected, newly stocked as well for the weekend shopping most customers did around your area.

As you made your way through the aisles you scolded yourself for not scribbling down a list of what you needed, then proceeded to pick up a good amount of garlic and onion because most dishes need one or both aplenty. Wouldn’t hurt to have more even if you already had some back home.

Slowly, but steadily, your cart begins to fill the more you walk around and your vision falls on something that you were running low on. Funnily enough, since your new roommate, you’d found yourself having to shop more than once a week. He had a ravenous appetite and you liked that about him, liked having someone there to enjoy your cooking.

Living alone was a blessing, but it did get lonely sometimes.

And before you’d just make something hasty and easy for yourself, too busy with work, too tired after work, or just too lazy and not seeing the appeal of treating yourself. But now, you had someone who depended on you and it felt exhilarating to prepare meals and have another mouth to feed. It didn’t matter to you that Ghost wasn’t big on verbal praises in regards to the food you made him or the care you put into him.

You were happy just having him contently lounging on your couch and stroking your thigh while you lay beside him.

“Milk, eggs, cheese, butter, Simon, you’re tugging too much.” You call back while sifting through the egg cartons and trying to find one that has all ten eggs intact. When the tugging didn’t relent and you received no answer, you turned back with the intent of scolding the silent giant. “Simon, I said you’re – ”

But it wasn’t Simon. He was on your opposite side, staring downward. You follow his gaze to find a little sprout of a being hooked to your jeans and looking up at you with just as much confusion.

Apparently, the toddler had seen your tall, dark, and handsome partner linked to you and with their guardian nowhere to be found, she’d done the same. A child’s mind will forever stay a mystery to you.

The child doesn’t look older than five or four, with large eyes and a small mouth that was shaking with uncertainty while she gawked up at you in a silent plea. The jacket she had on made her look like a walking square, her hands barely poked out of the sleeves. She’d be adorable if not for the tear-stained cheeks that immediately tugged at your heartstrings.

You shake off the shock that has stiffened your joints and push your cart away.

“Hey, there.” You coo gently, shoo both of their hands off your jeans before they end up pulling them off your hips, and kneel down to greet the poor thing that was already hiccupping with sobs. “Hey, little Darling. Where’s your mommy? Did you get lost?”

When the waterworks start again, you gently pet her back.

“There, there. Let it out, it’s okay.”

You curse yourself for not packing any tissues in your bag and wipe the tears off her chubby cheeks with your thumbs.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart.” You soothe, glance up at Ghost to see him standing there silently and watching the encounter unravel with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Typical guy. “Can you tell me your name? Your mommy’s name?”

“Julie.” Was the choppy, nasally answer you receive as the toddle clumsily wipes the snot in the sleeve of her jacket.

“Is that your name or your mommy’s name?” You ask while unzipping her jacket enough to get it off her mouth and find it coated in a sheen of saliva.

Tissues, wet wipes, freaking toilet paper, you would have liked to have something to wipe the poor thing clean, but of course when you needed your supplies most, nothing but your wallet and chewing gum were in your bag.

“My name is Julie. Mommy’s name is Mommy.”

You would have giggled at that answer if Julie wasn’t pouring out her little heart’s sorrow in front of you. Instead, you nod with an okay and rise to face Ghost while resting your hands on your hips. From what you can see around you, nobody is looking around frantically for a lost toddler so you sigh and run a hand over your hair, thinking.

“Might have to take her to reception and make an announcement. Or the mom might already be there.” You say and give the hulking behemoth a once over before cocking your head to the side. “I’ve got the cart. You mind taking her?”

You take a step back, but by the uneasy looks both of them are giving you, it dawns on you that playing mediator was your next step before taking the child along.

“It’s okay.” You give Julie a warm smile, eyes moving between her and Ghost while he also squats down, a foot away from you as not the scare the little thing. “This is Simon. He’s really nice, I promise. He’s my best friend, in fact, he won’t hurt you. Promise.”

It takes some more convincing on your part before the toddler agrees to be picked up by your companion, but once he’d set her on his shoulders to scan the area for her parents, she seemed as cheerful as a cherub. Apparently, she’d never been held that high off the ground before, it was a whole new experience for her, and by the way Simon supported her back with a hand larger than her head and the gentle shine in his eyes, you could tell he wasn’t having too bad of a time either.

You make your way towards the reception desk, accompanied by a symphony of kiddish giggles, your grocery shopping left on the back burner until you relieve yourselves of your new bundle of joy.

Squeals would come from Julie every so often as she fidgeted around on Simon’s shoulders, her pudgy hands splayed in his dirty blond locks or tugging gently on his ears. It suited him being in charge of a little one, the fatherly appeal caused a pleasant knot to tighten in your chest and you tried to wipe the wide grin off your lips, but you just couldn’t.

“Hi, good evening.” You call out to the staff on the other end of the wide reception desk, thankfully catching their attention just before they turned their back on you. “Hi…We found this little girl in the dairy aisle, haven’t been able to find her parents. Would you be able to make an announcement maybe?” You lean in and lower your voice, glancing back briefly to see Julie preoccupied with giggling while toying with Simon’s free hand to hear. “We don’t know the names of the parents. I tried asking but…no dice. Her name is Julie.”

It takes less than ten minutes of you hanging about the reception after the announcement was made, while Ghost entertains the lively toddler, for you to see a flushed woman hurrying your way with her purse clutched under her arm.

You straighten up and adjust your jacket before taking a few small steps forward.

“Oh thank God. Julie!” The mother you presume, presses a hand to her chest when she sees her baby girl atop your roommate’s shoulders. “Thank goodness.”

She surges forward before plucking her child from Ghost’s hand and squishing her to her cheek with a relieved expression softening her earlier strained features. You guess Julie would have been just as vocally ecstatic if her face wasn’t immediately squished to her mom’s neck. You watch her flail for a bit before being maneuvered on her side so she can say a thank you.

“Thank you so much! I turned around for a second and – ”

“ – It’s not a problem.” You chirp back, waving your hands to hopefully dismiss the built-up anxiety that had the mother’s eyes still as wide as saucers. A polite smile adorns your lips, your gestures open and stance friendly to ease the poor woman before she suffers a heart attack at your feet.

“I hope she didn’t give you any trouble.” She says while smoothing out her daughter’s hair lovingly and pressing a feverish kiss to her forehead, earning a giggle in response. Then she extends a hand towards you, which you shake with pleasure. “She can be a bit of a handful. My name is Lily, by the way. I’m sorry to have to meet like this.”

“No trouble at all, ma'am.” You nod, let her shake Simon’s hand as well while you give her your name, and toss a fleeting glare at your loving roommate for not offering his. “We’re happy to help. Nice to meet you.”

“Thank you again, bless you. Say thank you, Julie.” Lily urges and gently grabs Julie’s arm before waving it at both of you. She turns then, readjusts the toddler in her arms, and offers you one last farewell before walking away. “Have a good evening and thank you.”

Despite both the distance and the chatty surge of people around you, you can hear Lily scolding her daughter under her breath before returning to the cart she’d abandoned. It all makes you laugh, especially hearing the muffled mumbles of protest as Julie stares at you and Ghost over her mother’s shoulder.

You wave at her one last time before fetching your discarded grocery cart and rolling it to Simon’s side.

“Didn’t know you were so good with kids.” There’s a teasing note to your tone as you glance at him from under your lashes, hiding a smirk behind the collar of your jacket.

You take the lead, slowly making your way back between the aisles while skimming around for any products you might have skipped past the first time.

“Didn’t eithe’.” He says softly as if the whole situation was the most foreign thing he’d ever witnessed. As if this had been the first time he’d held a toddler, it was heartwarming to feel the thought behind his absentminded voice.

“You’d make a great dad one day.” You hum and poke at his side with your elbow to make him look down at you only to beam up at him.

He’s silent for a while as you stop by the stacks of instant ramen, eyes never leaving yours as his head tilts to one side.

“Tha’ so?”

“Absolutely.” You respond with confidence before breaking your heartfelt eye contact to pick out a packet of noodles for rainy days when you don’t feel like cooking. “Maybe I’ll get to be the Godmother.”

You miss the way he arches an eyebrow at your statement as if you’d said the most blatantly inaccurate thing ever. You miss the way his chocolate brows fall down to your belly where they stay for a suspicious amount of time while he thinks over how nice it would be for you to go shopping with a wee one fussing about in your cart.

For the rest of your stay in the grocery store, Simon was noticeably more touchy. Instead of hooking himself to your jeans, he had a hand pressed to your lower back, thumb rubbing circles into your jacket, hard enough for you to feel. You didn’t question it, thinking his good mood was probably due to your encounter with Julie earlier, the toddler did boost his spirits up after all. He persisted while you were making your way home, holding the groceries in one hand while keeping his other on you.

Nothing seemed out of normal to you while you were outside besides him being a little needier than usual. You didn’t ask about it and didn’t tease him either, instead, you were trying to figure out what to cook up tomorrow because you had all the time you could wish for since it was Saturday. Then again, you had other chores to tend to. There was the washing up, hoovering, dusting.

But as soon as you twisted your key in the lock and stepped inside your now-shared apartment, he had you practically pinned against the wall. Grabby hands were fumbling to get your jacket off while you kicked off your shoes and spat mewling protests against the bulk of his shoulder.

Between getting you and himself undressed, you managed to slip out of his grip and pattered to the kitchen hurriedly, groceries in hand. You barely managed to set them on the table before Ghost twirled you around in his arms like you weighed nothing and bent you over the counter.

“Simon!” You hiss back and fuss to get yourself free. “What’s gotten you so riled up all of a sudden?” You feel a prominent bulge press against the soft curve of your ass and squeal. “Darling, please! At least take me to the bedroom first.”

A “tsk” comes from behind you and you’re about to yap at him that that’s no way to respond to the person who’ll be making him breakfast tomorrow, but the air is knocked out of your lungs as you’re picked up with ease and flopped over his shoulder like a potato sack.

“Simon!” You thump a weak fist against his back as he carries you down the hallway and it still makes you laugh that he needs to duck past your kitchen door, despite the situation. “Talk to me, Darling? Please? Not that I mind, but I need to put the groceries in the fridge and – ”

He tosses you on the bed and crawls on top of you, the mattress dipping under his weight. There’s a certain flare to his eyes as he stares you down and you feel a lump form in your throat before you force it down and coo up at him.

“Wanna tell me what’s been going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You try to squirm away but only end up with his erection lodged between your thighs and his body weight locking you down against the sheets. A moan slips past your lips before you cup his cheeks and run your thumbs over his eyebrows to ease the tension that’s built up there.

“Tell me, please?” You urge while getting comfortable beneath him and swatting away the hand he has toying with the button of your jeans. You lock your legs around his thick waist and pull him a little closer. “Please?”

He doesn’t respond right away, apparently smacking his hand off you thrust him into a spree of thoughts. You wait patiently, one hand scratching at his scalp tenderly while the other stays on his cheek. He looks away from you after a while, something you don’t quite comprehend darkening his moment of contemplation as he mulls over a decision you can only guess at.

His earlier desperation has all but vanished, leaving you absolutely confused.

“Si…Darling.”

You don’t expect him to turn back to you with pain glistening in those brown orbs you like so much before he props himself up on one elbow. Don’t expect the uneven movements of his hand as he slowly, timidly takes one of the black bands holding his mask in place and unfurls it from his ear before taking the little slip off entirely. He places it by your head and adjusts himself on both elbows, a thin-lipped frown tugging the corners of his mouth down as he watches avidly for your reaction.

A pang of guilt surges through you because of how long you’d been silently staring back at him in the darkness of your room. The street lamps illuminate the walls, illuminate his bare face as well.

His. Bare. Face.

The one he’d been hiding since you’d first met, the one you hadn’t seen even when you’d seen the rest of him stark naked whenever you made love. It doesn’t register at first, that you can see his whole face, that he’d finally let you see all of him.

Then your chest flourishes, it feels like exploding in a heap of budding flowers and a breathless laugh leaves your lips, one of joy, of an achievement long overdue, finally accomplished.

You hesitantly cup his cheeks again, this time feeling the light stubble grazing your soft skin.

“Hey…” You manage out, fighting to kick away the surprise and give him the love he deserves for taking such a step forward. “Hey, handsome old dog.”

Your tender expression forces him to halt his breathing altogether before he buries himself in the safety of your neck, breathing you in slowly, the familiar scent calming his strained nerves. You feel the muscles on his back ripple under your touch as you run your hand over his form tenderly, feel his chest expand with every strictly controlled breath he takes.

“Hey…” He murmurs back, greeting muffled into your skin as you rest a trembling hand against the back of his head and sink your fingers into his short hair.

You hadn’t even paid attention to the scars littering his battle-honed skin, they’d been the last thing on your mind as you’d taken him in. He was ruggedly charming, uniquely handsome, it boggled you why he so fiercely hid his face when there was nothing wrong with him. But that was a discussion for another day, you pushed down your bubbling questions and just let the moment consume you.

You feel his lips move against your neck as he swallows, and nuzzle your cheek against his crown lovingly before closing your eyes with a sigh. He relents when you nudge him with your nose to lift his head before pressing a kiss to his nose, then his cheeks, his chin and forehead before finally planting your lips on his. His desperation to remove your bottoms returns then and he’s back at toying with your button and zipper.

You let him take off your jeans while you tug at his jacket, leaving it to pool on the floor before he eases himself out of his blouse and nestles back above you. Your feet come to rest on his strong calves, hands in his hair and glazing over his back as he loses himself in your skin, nipping incessantly at your collarbone while silently asking for you to take off your top and let him feast on more than just your neck.

And as always, you’re pliant when he’s finally caught you under his bulk. You push him off enough to discard the article of clothing before letting yourself fall back into the sheets, mewling happily while he laps at your flesh like a man starved.

A heat pools in your loins, one you try to soothe by pushing your hips up into his and earning yourself a choked growl that makes you quiver with excitement.

But a question keeps nagging at you no matter how heated you become and how low his insatiable lips travel down your body. You hum when his nose nudges the hem of your panties and you stop him before he can pull them off and descend on your gathering slick.

“So…” You begin through a strained voice and glance down at him, finding his eyes already locked on you. Your mouth goes dry, throat tightening, but you force yourself to ask. You need to know, if nothing else, at least this. “What’s the occasion?”

He laughs at your hesitation, a deep, rumbling laugh choir that should come from the monsters in your childhood fairytales, not the man about to stuff his face between your thighs.

“Wan’ed you to see what the father of yer kids looks like, Birdie.”

<<< Chapter 2

Chapter 4 >>>

Masterlist

[reysdriver]

Settle Down | J.P.

tension between you and James is on the rise as you reach the last couple weeks of your pregnancy, and insecurity starts getting the best of your husband — dad!farmer!james x mom!reader fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: reader is quite pregnant, jealousy, worries of cheating (irrational fear here, of course), relationship insecurity, body insecurity, and it gets pretty suggestive at the end

words: 3.7k

Harry ran as quickly as his little legs could take him through the field, over to his dad and the new farmhand so he could invite them in for lemonade you had just made with the kids. 

You watched the adorable sight from inside while holding your 18 month-old against your chest. It was hard to manoeuvre while heavily pregnant but Ivy loves being held, and it’s so hard saying no to your little girl. 

Harry ran inside first, sporting a proud grin and announcing that he had done as you asked. Since you couldn’t bend down to kiss him, you patted your son on his head and poured him a glass of the lemonade you promised him for calling over the men inside.

Your son happily gulped down the drink and held out his glass, asking for a refill. You smiled and obliged his request. As you poured once again, James strode in while making an exaggerated expression of disappointment. 

“You’re supposed to be resting.” He reminded you, as if you could forget. 

“I didn’t strain myself making the lemonade, and I got a helper to pass on the message to you boys outside.”

James tousled Harry’s hair, letting him know he was proud. “Good boy, helping your mama.”

“I made the lemonade too!” Harry beamed, liquid rimming his mouth from his forceful downing of the drink. 

“Yes, you did!” You turned to James, smiling smugly. “See, it’s basically rest.”

He frowned, disapproving of your decision to keep up with small tasks when your doctor has recommended that you spend most of your time resting until the new baby comes. 

“I’m not worried, Jamie.” 

“Well, I am.” He told you, gently taking Ivy from your arms and holding her with significantly less effort than it takes you to do the same thing. “I’m your husband, so it’s my job to worry about you. Please go relax upstairs. I can’t relax if you don’t.”

“I can’t see the barn or the field when I’m in bed. I get sad without that view.”

Flattery would not work on James in this scenario, but you could see that it was definitely helping. His face softened and hints of a smile were almost peeking out. 

Interrupting your little moment, Jack, the new farmhand walked through the front door. 

You turned away from James so you could pour the younger man some lemonade, but he interjected. 

“I can get that, Miss Potter. I’m the one working for you, no need to put yourself out in your condition.” Jack said, reaching for the lemonade and an empty glass on the counter. 

You heard James muttering an angry “Missus” under his breath, but you chose to ignore it. 

Other than the title, Jack was right. He was preaching exactly what you had been upset with James for bothering you about. But you could only be mad at James, since he was your husband and his lectures were constant. 

“Isn’t it good, Dad?” Harry asked happily, looking up at his father. 

“It’s amazing, Haz.” He said, really to both you and Harry. 

Then the new farmhand spoke up with his own testimony to the beverage. “It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

James noticed you looked flattered at the pair of compliments—he hoped you gave his own a little bit more weight—and guzzled down the rest of his drink. 

“Alright, love, let’s get you settled back upstairs.” Your husband said, a hand gesturing up to your bedroom, but not for anything fun. 

“I think I’ll sit outside for a bit.” You countered. “That way I can still relax like you want me to, but I still spend time with the kids as they run around out there.” 

Although James couldn’t theoretically object to that, he knew if he gave you a little bit of leeway by accepting this proposal, you’d go even further with it and that did nothing but stress James out. 

You two just stared at each other in a silent standoff, seeing who would budge first. You crossed your arms, and with that, James knew you weren’t wavering any time soon. Your husband sighed, then agreed that you could lounge around outside on the condition that you stayed on the porch swing for a majority of the time. 

Satisfied with that, you took your son’s hand and waddled out to the porch, James following while carrying Ivy out so she could sit with you as well. 

Your husband tucked Ivy and Harry against your sides, then went back to work out in the field while Jack went over to the barn. 

“Mummy, I want to work out there!” Harry exclaimed after a couple minutes of calm cloud gazing.

“You don’t want to stay here and keep me company?” 

Harry looked slightly conflicted, and you were sure much of the concern that your young son had for you had been placed there by James. It was sometimes nice to have your husband worried about you, but it felt bittersweet to have Harry do the same when he had much better things to occupy his innocent mind. 

“I’m kidding, honey.” You unwrapped your arm from around his side and helped him off the swing. “Go ask your dad if he has anything you can do. He’ll put you to work in no time.” 

That was apparently all the boy needed to hear, since he ran off towards his father as soon as the words left your mouth. 

You turned to the little girl on your other side and took her little hand in yours since you couldn’t let her sit on your lap in your condition. 

“Well, it’s just you and me, princess.” 

She looked at you and pouted softly. You could already tell she was a busybody like the rest of the family, and that she would much rather be playing or walking around the farm than sitting on the porch. 

“I know, Ivy. I’m bored too, but we’ll get through it. Look at the boys out there.” 

You two sat on the porch swing, rocking slightly, for what felt like hours—it was really more like thirty minutes. Ivy’s been babbling for a while, and that’s been the only thing keeping you sane. 

Then you noticed Jack walking over towards the house, holding something in a closed fist. 

“Hi, Miss Potter.” The twenty year-old began. 

“Hi, Jack.” You smiled. “What have you got there?” 

“I was cleaning out the hayloft, and I found this old bracelet up there.” 

He held out his hand, showing off a dainty piece of jewelry. It was definitely weathered, but it wasn’t necessarily dirty, and you could still see it was silver with a few pearls decorating it. 

“Oh, that’s lovely.” You commented. “Isn’t that pretty, honey?”

Your daughter repeated the word ‘pretty’ in the adorable way she does when copying you. Then you brought your attention back to the farmhand. 

“I’m not sure how it got there, I’ve never seen it before. Maybe a bird brought it in. I’ll ask James if he recognises it too.”

“Do you want me to bring it over to him?”

“No, that’s alright.” You replied. “If you could bring it inside and put it in a bowl by the sink, though, that would be great. And feel free to get yourself a drink from the kitchen, too.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He shot you a smile as he headed inside the house, politely wiping his boots on the mat before entering and walking around. 

You turned towards your daughter, curling her soft hair around your finger as she snuggled up against your hip. 

“See that? We’ve got treasure on this farm, baby. We’ve got pearls growing out of the ground.” 

Her smile mirrored yours and you thought her expression was so damn adorable even though you knew she didn’t understand at all what you were talking about. 

Jack walked out of the house, the quiet creak of the front door interrupting you giggling over your daughter babbling about the farm and wherever else her mind was going. 

“All done, Miss Potter.” He reported. 

“Thank you, Jack.” 

“Thank you!” Ivy spoke up, happily repeating after you. 

You fawned over your own daughter, cheering her on for speaking, and while using such sweet manners at that. Jack joined in as well, telling the baby she did such a good job. 

Unbeknownst to you, your husband was watching from across the property, a judging expression on his face as he observed you and the young new farmhand being so friendly. 

Of course James trusted you. Of course James was glad you were feeling happy after all you’ve been through with this tiring pregnancy. And of course James knew he was better company than some farmhand who was barely older than a high-schooler. 

But he knows that you’re smiling at Jack and looking more giddy than you have with James for the past few weeks. He was young, charming, and quite fit. How could James not feel at least a little bit jealous and insecure? 

And though James hated seeing it, he was absolutely not going to make a scene. But he was going to do something about it. 

“Hey, Haz?” He called to the boy picking—and snacking on—cherry tomatoes. 

Harry shot up, a smile on his face and a small tomato in his cheek. 

“Can you come here for a second, mate? Bring the basket, please.”

Your son walked over to his dad, carrying over his haul. 

“You’re doing so well picking the tomatoes, but I’m worried we’ll have nothing left over if I keep you on the job.” James joked, and the young boy smiled, knowing exactly what his dad meant. “New task for you, go entertain your mum, alright? Keep her company? She can’t do much to play with you, but I’m sure she’d love to hear a story. Think you can do that?” 

Harry nodded and darted off to where you and Ivy were sitting on the porch, both enjoying Jack’s animal impressions that he had been putting on to impress the little girl at your side. 

He climbed up onto the swing with you again, and you welcomed him with open arms. Well, one open arm, since you were holding Ivy close to you with the other. 

“Oh, look whose boredom has been cured!” You teased, allowing him to sit right next to you. 

“Daddy said I gotta keep you company.” He informed you happily. 

“Did he, now? Well, that’s perfect ‘cause I was just starting to miss you.”

Jack took this reunion as his cue to leave, going back to his work in the barn with barely any acknowledgement as he left. 

James, watching from across the property, didn’t even bother hiding his proud grin when he saw everything unfolding just as he had planned. He too went back to his work, only thinking about finishing for the day so he could go back inside with you and the kids—and no dumb farmhand. 

Once James had done everything that he needed to do, he headed back over to the house, the whole family wearing matching smiles as he walked towards you. 

“Hi, handsome.” You greeted him. “All done?”

“All done.” He replied. He then bent down to kiss you softly. “How are you feeling, lovie?” 

“I’m great. Your little helper was doing such a good job keeping me and Ivy company.”

James proudly patted the top of Harry’s head. “That’s my boy.”

Harry grinned bashfully, happy for the validation that he had done well with the tasks he was given today. 

“I’ll wash up and then I can make dinner, okay?”

“James—” 

He cut you off, knowing exactly what your protest was before you could even start. “I’ll make dinner. Only reason I wouldn’t is if none of you were hungry.”

Shooting him a defeated glare, you stood up from the porch swing and took the kids inside with you, James trailing right behind you all. 

“So what are you all hungry for?” 

“Cheese sandwiches!” Harry said enthusiastically. 

Of course he did. 

Since you’ve been pregnant and taking more breaks lately—though you would never tell James you’ve been feeling slightly more tired since you’ve seen how serious he gets about your health—you’ve been making easier meals for the family. And Harry hasn’t been able to get enough of the extremely simple sandwiches you’ve been serving up. 

James chuckled. “C’mon, it’s your mother that you need to go easy on, not me. What else do you want?” 

But your little boy stuck with his choice, just as you knew he would.

“Sandwiches! The way Mummy makes them!”

James feigned shock and offense, jaw dropped and a hand to his heart. 

“The way Mummy makes them? Is the way Daddy makes them not good enough?!” 

“Mummy makes them the best!” Harry giggled, pointing at you. 

You blew a kiss to your son as you sat your daughter in her high chair. 

“Thank you, baby. You’re too nice to me.”

Harry lifted his little hand and mimed catching the kiss and pressing it to his cheek, mimicking what James does every time you blow him a kiss. It was so damn adorable, you blew another kiss just to watch him do it again, and it was just as cute the second time. 

But all good things come to an end, and your attention was taken away from the boy by the sound of your front door opening and the sight of your new farmhand walking in. 

“Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve done all the work for the day, so I’ll be heading home.” 

Good riddance, James thought. But you weren’t that mean. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” You asked, walking over to the farmhand. 

Before Jack could answer, James spoke up for him, eager to get the younger man out of your house. 

“I’m sure he’s tired and just wants to get home, love.”

You turned to Jack and rested a reassuring hand on his bicep. You were worried about him not eating after a full day of working, but obviously James didn’t see it like that. James only noticed your hand on the young man’s arm, and he saw red. But of course, he couldn’t show it to you. James stood there, silently fuming and hoping that Jack would leave as soon as possible. 

“Really, it’s nothing big.” You continued asking your farmhand if he wanted to stay a little longer. “James is making sandwiches, so it shouldn’t take long.” 

James stepped in again, even though he tried not to. “Well it’ll take longer if we stand around talking about it.”

Sensing the start of some tension that he would rather avoid, Jack decided staying for dinner may not be the best idea. 

“He’s right, Miss Potter. I should be getting going. Have a good night.”

You and the kids waved him goodbye as Jack headed out. James however, did not. But you chose to ignore that for the time being, telling yourself your husband was just eager to end his work day and spend time with his family. 

From practically the second the door closed behind the farmhand, James seemed alright. James made dinner, played with the kids, and even took the lead with putting them to bed afterwards. 

You were almost willing to look past it and just go to sleep, until James started acting oddly again, just as you were getting ready for bed. 

The both of you were running through your normal bedtime routine—which was getting earlier and earlier now that James insisted you needed all the sleep you could get—and you had crawled into bed, getting comfortable. 

You expected James to join you soon enough, so you picked up the book from your bedside table and waited as he finished up in the bathroom. 

The door opened, and out walked your husband in his sleep pants and a tank top. 

“Well, hello there, handsome.” You called, holding out a hand to invite him into bed with you. 

“Hi, gorgeous.” James replied with a grin.

You thought he was coming to get into his side of the bed, but he stops at the foot of the bed and sits down on the floor instead. 

Although it was more of a struggle than normal, you tried sitting up so you could get a better look at your husband, who was now beginning to lightly stretch on your carpet. 

“Jamie, what are you doing down there?”

“Just getting a quick workout in, love.” He said that like it was totally normal, but you thought otherwise. You knew your husband far too well to believe him about this. 

“The workout you did all day outside wasn’t enough for you?” You tried approaching it gently, teasing him a bit, because you wanted to keep the mood light. 

“No, I just figured I should try to get a bit more in shape.”

“You’re in shape.” You told him with a hundred percent honesty. 

He basically shrugged off your response, which only concerned you more. James has always been fit, and even though he doesn’t work out the same way he used to before having kids, he still spent his days doing manual labour, which kept him in great shape. 

“Jamie, could you get up, please?” 

He stood up immediately, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. He sat down on the side of the bed, not breaking eye contact with you for a single second. 

“Is everything okay?” He asks softly.

“That’s what I should be asking you, Jamie. What’s been going on with you lately?” 

“What do you mean?”

The question was nonsense, and you both knew it. James had been acting differently than normal lately, and it was impossible to not notice. He was buying time for some reason, and you just wanted to figure out why. 

“You know what I mean.” You told him with a defeated slump of your shoulders. “We’re too close for a lie like that to work on me. You’ve been watching me like a hawk, you’ve been irritable, and you seem like you’re trying to prove yourself for some reason. Talk to me, Jamie, please.”

James sighed, knowing there was no way he could, or reason he should, lie his way out of this. Being honest with his wife was far more valuable than his ego. And we’re talking about James Potter here, so that means a lot.  

He shifted his form around so that he was face to face with you

“I’m worried I’m not good enough for you anymore, lovie.”

Your heart sank. James has been a little overbearing lately—for obvious reasons—and you’ve been letting him know how you felt, but you didn’t know he had been taking your criticism personally. 

“James, I didn’t—” 

“No, I know. It’s not your fault at all.” He interrupted you gently, taking your hands in his. 

That was so like James. It was exactly what you loved about him—one of many reasons. Even when he was opening up about something that’s been on his mind, he was still trying to comfort you. 

“I feel like we’re not as close right now as we usually are.” James continued. “And that’s no one’s fault, it’s just that the house is full of stress with the new baby coming soon, and we’re all adapting every day.”

You took a breath, knowing he was absolutely right. It’s no secret that the family has been full of all kinds of emotions as of late, but you and James haven’t really acknowledged the shifting of your relationship. 

“I just can’t help but hurt a little when I see you with the farmhand and you’re gushing over him while he flexes his muscles and showers you with compliments. It reminds me of when we were younger, and I wonder if you would trade our life now for what it was like back then.”

You raised his hands, which were cradling yours, up to your lips and pressed a kiss to each hand. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t know how you felt.” You said softly. “It was nice back then, but it’s also pretty nice now, and I wouldn’t trade our life together for anything in the world.”

Your words seemed to have cheered your husband up a bit, as you saw a smile hit the corners of his lips. 

“I promise I only have eyes for you, and you don’t need to do anything other than being your wonderful self to ensure that. I love you, even if I haven’t been showing it much lately. I’m sorry that I made you doubt our relationship, even in the slightest.” 

You scanned his face, trying to read his emotions. Usually you were great at this, but tonight there was something a bit off, and you couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. 

Reassuring you that you two were okay, James nodded and leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“I love you too.” He promised, his hands falling to your hips. “I’m glad you still find me attractive.”

“You’re so attractive.” You leaned over—albeit slightly effortfully—and kissed his cheek as you spoke. “James Potter, you’re the sexiest person in the world.”

“No, definitely not.” He shook his head and bit the inside of his cheek. 

This humility was unusual for James. Ever since you met, he’s been cocky and proud. He’s incredible in every way, and he knew it. 

As he looked up at you and opened his mouth to speak again, you realised the sudden humble attitude was all an act. 

“I’m probably second place. You’re definitely sexier.” 

You bit back the grin that threatened you, but there was nothing you could do about the blush that flooded your cheeks. You shook your head and gestured to your body that was cloaked in a soft set of pink maternity pyjamas. 

“Not like this, I’m not.”

James shook his head again and cupped your face in his hands so he could press a trail of kisses along your jaw. “I think you’re especially sexy like this. And if you weren’t ordered against any strenuous tasks, I’d prove it to you right now.”

[joonieskinks]

au where you were married to Cpt John MacTavish, but wake up to find yourself married to Sergeant Johnny MacTavish (original vs remake Soap)

“No,” you state coldly. The shock was still sinking in.

“No, Price. That’s not my husband.”

Price’s gaze puzzles. “You asked for Johnny MacTavish, this is Johnny. Our Johnny.” He gestures to your supposed husband, who is taking this all in himself, but he sits just staring at you.

Johnny, who couldn’t stop admiring your face, your body, your ring on your fourth finger. He gave you that. Well, sort of.

Johnny, who was your husband. You, his wife. He had a wife in another life. Gods, what a catch you are, how did he manage to bag you? he thinks.

Wait. Gods, does that mean he gets you too?

“I asked for my John, my John MacTavish, my husband. He-“ You state and finally look, really look at the man before you, this Johnny.

“He’s too young, it’s not the same. It’s- it’s off.” You look back down to the floor, you’re utterly confused. One moment you’re in bed at home, the next you’re on base in a room that’s designated for “MacTavish”. At first you thought it was a dream, so of course you went asking for your husband just to see his face again.

You didn’t expect to actually see him, well- a younger version of your husband, much less an alive one. You had to pinch yourself, you really were here. This was real.

Maybe it was a second chance, maybe it was a cruel trick of fate. You couldn’t tell just yet. You were hesitant, scared.

But Johnny on the other hand, he was having a hard time keeping still and his hands to himself with the likes of you in front of him.

“Cap’, can ye give us a moment?” Johnny asked his superior, who happily obliged. Price eyed you as if to warn you not to do anything stupid, but still be backed out of the room.

You could still barely look at Johnny. He’s your husband, but so much younger, he’s still just as handsome, he’s technically yours but- it was all too weird. Would he even want you? What if he had someone else already?

“Bonnie? Will ya look at me?” Johnny comes straight up to you, holding your hands in his. His fingers playing with your wedding ring, he already loves the idea of it, of you as his. That ring to call you his and his alone. Never did he think he’d have anything remotely close to this, so he considers you a blessing if anything.

You reluctantly keep your head down so Johnny brings one hand to cup your chin, forcing your gaze up to his face.

The sight of his concerned face nearly breaks your heart. It hurts to see him yet it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of since his passing. To have him before you again. It’s all so overwhelming you can’t help but tear up.

“No need for that, bonnie.” He smiles as he cups your cheeks. It feels so good to have his skin on yours again, you close your eyes at the feeling.

“If you’ll have me, I’ll certainly have you. Even if ye are a cougar now.” He jokes and your eyes shoot open at his words. You hit him lightly out of annoyance, but he just smiles. You can’t help but begrudgingly smile back, rolling your eyes.

Same sense of humour. Maybe he is your husband after all.

“I missed you so much, Johnny.” You admit, bringing your fingers to graze across his face. To actually feel him again, it really feels like you’re getting your second chance at love.

“‘Ts nice to finally meet my missus.” He says softly as he brings his forehead to rest against yours, but it’s you who brings your lips to meet his, losing yourself in his touch after all these years alone…

Then it hits you that this younger version of your husband might have even more stamina and strength- so naturally you waste no time getting him back into his quarters and testing that theory.

At first you feel a little nervous that Johnny might not like what he sees. After all, you are a couple years older than he is now, but he’s utterly entranced as you stand bare before him. His hands all over your body, exploring every crevice, kissing you up and down. He can’t get enough.

“My wife’s so beautiful”, “my wife’s all mine”, “gonna make ya feel so good, show ya what a good husband I’ll make for ya.”

[pricesprincess]

I'm a simple woman: gimme hubby John Price teaching Simon how to eat his missus out just right - and I'm done.

smut mdni + wife sharing

Your husband's rough palm trailed down your soft tummy, hearing you gasp as your legs tried to close from not only John's gaze but Simon's as well, who stood in front of the bed with arms crossed.

Simon is tall, taller than most, and a hulk of a man whose sheer height blocked out the light from the ceiling, casting a shadow over you and the bed; you felt trapped but in a delicious way.

John on one side of you, his hands working you over, pinching your nipples and stroking your cunt, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to spill from your lips as you sighed. "John."

He hummed and dipped his head down, his lips brushing against your ear, making you shiver, his beard tickling you, making you giggle and grasp for any part of him you could before looking at Simon.

"Lt."

One word was all it took for Simon to heel, his eyes shifted to your husband, who rested his hand on your knees, gazing down at you. "You're a good girl for me. Simon here is going to make you feel good." John patted the other man on the shoulder as he stood.

You watched your man move to the chair that he had turned to face the bed even before Simon had come over when you three had talked about it last night, the boundaries, the expectations, and how you like your pussy ate.

The entire conversation, your face felt warm, and your blood began to simmer when John told Simon you were weak for pussy kisses.

And it seems that Riley wasn't a man who forgot so quickly.

Laying down, Simon followed your husband's instructions, hoping to please his captain in hopes that this could happen more often, you, John's wife, were so sweet and soft but snippy and loud, too.

He loved that you weren't afraid to stand up to anyone, but he also liked how soft you were for John, like clay, ready to be bent and molded to however they pleased.

Simon listened to your noises, his lips dragging up your thighs, making you shiver and gasp, and then curl your fingers in his hair, tugging his mouth flush to your weeping pussy, making John chuckle.

"Strong one, innit she?"

You moaned when Simon kissed your pussy, slowly until his lips were sticky and shiny, making you dizzy with pleasure; then he drug his tongue from your slick fluttering entrance all the way to your aching clit he sucked on before flicking it back and forth, keeping you on edge.

John's body responded on its own, moving towards you as your back arched off the bed when Simon thrust two thick fingers inside your cunt that sounded so fucking wet it made both of their cocks ache.

Simon barely paid his captain any attention; it was all about you.

[partiallysame]

OK OK OKK JUUSTT LISTEN TO ME ON THIS ONE PLEAASEEEE. what about price's lil missus (or mister, we're gender inclusive here!) getting captured by makarov and being held for ransom. NEED to see this in your writing

No you’re so right Price’s lil missus can also be his lil mister. His lil love his lil dove. Not sure if I’ve used pronouns other than the term missus but we are inclusive here (also it’s on my list to write more male reader too)

Ok ok ok I think when the boys first moved in Simon was appalled at the lack of security. He immediately put in alarms on the doors and a tracker on your car (with your concern although he would’ve even if you said no. Safety is not an option). You had turned the beep on the front door off bc that’s annoying to hear everytime you open it buttttt if the door was ever left open for too long Simon would get an alert in his phone. Usually just you leaving it open when doing something in the yard or grabbing something from your car buttt this time he got the notification and checked the cameras to see you being carried kicking and screaming into a suv. Suddenly they’re in a military humvee tracking the car on traffic cameras. Price cursing himself bc he kept you a secret for a reason. Covert ops meant a covert personal life was the safest option.

While you were Price’s sweet dove you were anything but docile he simply wouldn’t leave you alone for work without knowing you could protect yourself. Makarov was not expecting the sweet lil thing his men grabbed to somehow get a knife into two of his men. But you know, gun pressed to your head helps everyone calm down. So you found yourself tied up in a dark room. The idiot Russian barely had a moment to take the ransom photo before he heard the gunshots outside. The door was exploded open (not their first idea but the fastest). On the way to you they had to discuss how to handle the situation bc they always did their best to make sure civilians weren’t harmed in this situation but now it’s you. It’s the sweet love of their lives. They wanted to rescue you without adding more trauma than already caused. Before the dust settles from the door you saw Johnny full tac gear. A uniform you’ve only ever seen in photos. Emerging behind him was Kyle and a man in a skeleton mask. Johnny found your gaze, his hand motioned over his own eyes, signaling you to close yours. You did and the room got so unbelievably loud. Eyes shut tight, you felt strong arms wrap around you, lifting and carrying you from the room and the noise. When the ringing in your ears stopped enough you could hear your husband’s voice trying to coax you to open your eyes. His hands working to untie you, too scared to bring a knife near you to just cut the restraints off. When you finally opened your eyes, he watched your body untense. Body falling into his only to feel more arms wrap around you from the back. Sobs falling from you and the men around you. Not so big tough when it comes to your life. You looked down and could see the skeleton mask resting on the floor. “Spooky mask Simon.” Your lil quip brought a small smile to their faces. You were ok. You were safe and still yourself. As they guided you to the humvee you tried to turn to look at where you were being held hostage “no nope nope eyes forward sweetheart” just because you were forced to experience some of their job didn’t mean they wanted you to see all of it. They had been chasing makarov for so long but his mistake of coming after Prices lil wife caused him a bullet (or 4) to the head

[giuseppe-yuki]

secret admirer

1st grade teacher!max verstappen x 1st grade teacher! reader

w.c.: 1.9k

warnings: none :)

summary: a rose appears on your desk every day. who is it from??

a/n: i know it's edited but glasses max has me in a CHOKEHOLD!!!! anyways, mini fic while ya'll wait for the promised spiderman!au fic (i'm still working on it...)

picture credits from pinterest :)

there’s a single rose on your desk - a pretty swirl of soft pink petals that still has that faint sweet smell. 

it sits neatly on your stack of graded addition-papers, right atop aurelia's perfect-score paper. 

at first, you had thought that it was from one of you adventurous first-graders, jack or tina, who had climbed up onto the rose-bush hills and plucked a single flower to put on your desk. it wasn’t rare, of course, for your students to give you gifts. (you still had that rock that your student from a few years ago, logan, had given to you on your desk)

you had even asked your class, standing in front of all of them with the roses in hand, asking who had picked them.

they had all shared that devious look only first-graders could make, covering their giggly mouths with a hand, and refused to elaborate. 

only gabriel, or bubbles, as many called him, had raised his hand and said, ”it wasn’t us because i saw someone down the hall come in with a flower for you,” before isack, who sat next to him on the colored square carpet, slapped his glue covered hand in front of gabriel’s mouth and announced, “no, we didn’t see anything, missus teacher.”

weird. 

a white rose sits on your desk today, its pure petals almost glowing from the sunlight filtering through your window. 

you poke at it, as if it could just magically reveal who had placed it there. you even consider sniffing it really hard in a moment of desperation, as if the scent of the giver would somehow be there. 

however, the pitter-patter of sparkly flats and light-up shoes squeak through the hallway, accompanied by the loud chatter of your first grade students stop you from performing such a stupid-sounding act. 

they’re obviously not supposed to be inside where you are, sorting their coloring worksheets, but rather supposed to be outside on the play-yard with the rest of the first graders. of course, when have 1st graders ever listen to adults, anyways?

the scuffling of several pairs of shoes stop in front of your closed door. 

ollie’s voice drift through the cracks of the door first.

“you open the door,” he says in a whisper-that’s-not-so-quiet.

a second accented voice echoes through. “no you open the door, ollie, you’re the one who wanted to come here first!”

right away, you clock it as ollie’s inseparable best friend, kimi.

a third voice resonates through the classroom through the crack under the door. 

“don’t be a idiot, kimi, you both wanted to come back to the classroom.” 

doriane.

“hey! don’t be meanie, doriane, that is a bad word!”

”well, you and kimi both have cooties, anyways.”

the sound of someone bursting into tears. 

at that point, you shoot out of your chair, leaving the rose atop a quite frankly, badly colored picture of a dinosaur. 

slowly, you open your classroom door to find doriane and maya standing with their arms crossed, facing an angry-looking kimi who was holding up a bawling ollie.

”what’s going on here, guys?” you ask, crouching down to look them in the eyes. “why did you guys come back into the classroom when you guys should be out in the play-yard with your friends?”

ollie wipes the tears from his big brown eyes with the back of his hand before shooting forward, out of kimi’s grip. 

“i just wanted to tell you, that me, and maya, and kimi, and doriane were playing tag- and guess what!” 

“what,” you respond, just to appease him. 

“we heard- “ he looks around nervously- “that the teacher from room 33 down the hall called you gor- gor-“

”gor-jus!” maya interjects helpfully. 

kimi and doriane nod aggressively. 

“did he?” you respond slowly. “that’s very interesting, guys, thanks for telling me that. now go run along back to the playground, because you guys still have five minutes of recess left, okay?”

they beam, and echo you’re welcomes before scurrying back down the hall.

hmm.

a yellow rose sits on your desk this time, thornless, but with a single spiky leaf on its stem. it fits in the pot real nicely with the other two roses, even though they are different colors. 

you almost zone out looking at the flowers, before you feel a little hand grasping your shirt and pulling. 

jack stands next to you with a piece of paper and a shy smile. 

quickly snapping out of your trance, you scoot closer towards him on your wheely chair and lean forwards him. 

“hiya jack,” you say, encouraging him to speak up. “did you want to show me something?”

”yeah,” he says simply, before turning his paper around. 

it’s…something. 

“wow, that’s very nice, jack,” you respond, trying to decipher and piece together exactly what the five big pink and blue squares, two circles, and random black scribble on the side were supposed to mean. 

“it’s a car,” he states matter-of-factly. “it’s ‘cause i want to be a race-car driver when i gr-“

before he can finish his sentence, bianca runs up behind him like a secret-agent before shoving him out of the way. 

“hey, i want to show missus teacher my paper,” she snaps.

almost immediately, you leap up to catch jack before he stumbles and falls head-first into the trash can placed  next to your desk. 

“bianca,” you chastise. “we do not push, we wait our turn, okay?” 

she frowns, whispering a quick ‘sorry’ to jack. 

“that’s o-k,” jack says, smiling kindly, before walking away to show somebody his abstract shapes/car drawing. 

bianca shoves her picture in your lap the moment you sit back down.

it’s beautifully drawn, and you would definitely paste it on your “artist superstar” board in the corner of your classroom, except for the fact that there was two figures, one clearly with a rose in its hand, embracing another figure with a blue shirt and yellow-crayon colored hair. 

“that’s you,” she explains, pointing to the figure with the red rose. “and that,” she says, pointing to the mysterious other figure, “is your secret friend that likes you.” 

“oh!” you respond. 

right, okay. 

a velvet red rose shows up on your desk half-way through the next day. it’s in perfect bloom, petals opening to a perfect rounded shape. 

as pretty as it is, you almost forget about it, only because of the fact that your class was being well-behaved, unlike normal.

they actually listen as they sit quietly on their own little carpet squares, whiteboards in hand, as you begin your lesson on the three properties of matter at the front of the classroom.

it doesn’t last very long, however. you’re halfway through explaining how ice cubes can go from the solid form to the liquid form, when you start hearing whispering from the back row. 

liam, with, like, twenty goofy little lightening mcqueen stickers stuck all over his shirt, squeals in laughter as he scribbles something on his white-board, causing the kids around him to laugh. 

you sigh, setting down your own marker, before turning back around. time to confiscate whiteboards. 

“liam, please give me your white-board,” you declare as kindly as you can. 

“no!” he screeches stubbornly as he ferociously scribbles something on the board again.

you have to almost snatch the board away from his surprisingly strong grip with excess force.

on it, instead of the water droplet diagram like everyone else, he has drawn a big heart, complete with your initials, a plus sign, and a big fat MV next to it. 

what. 

gathering all the clues together from your students like you were some type of detective, you are certain you know who has been giving you the roses. there was only one person down the hall, in room 33, who always wore a blue shirt with blond-ish hair that had the initials mv. 

you stroll down the hall during recess the next day, when ollie and kimi and jack and all the little troublemakers are outside jumping rope and playing tag.

when you peer into the window of the 1st grade classroom located at the end of the hall, you spot a familiar man sitting in a swirly chair in the corner of the room. aside from you, he was one of the only other 1st grade teachers at the school. you hadn’t really talked to him much- just limited conversations in the teacher break room or quick greetings the hallways.

he’s scrunched over his desk, lamp setting his blonde hair alight into golden strands. the glasses that sit atop his nose slide down his sloped nose, which he quickly corrects by lifting his hand and pushing it back up to its correct position. 

huh. you suppose he was kind of cute. 

max, or mr. v, like all the students call him, jerks rather violently when you stick your head into the doorway his race-car themed classroom and wave a hello. the glasses he wears skew crooked, and the half-open can of redbull that he has on the corner of his desk almost goes flying onto the checkered rug that he has placed on the floor.

“oh, i’m so sorry, max, didn’t mean to scare you there!” you apologize, watching as he snatches the silver and blue can with lightning fast reflexes before shoving it haphazardly behind a stack of ungraded papers. 

“no, no, you’re okay,” he says much too quickly, fixing his glasses. “i was, just, you know, sitting around, um, here.” 

there’s a slight lisp to his voice that you hadn’t noticed before. it curls around you in a surprising yet comforting way. you kinda liked it. 

”right,” you affirm. “well, i hope you don’t mind me interrupting your, er, sitting around time, but i’ve been receiving this kind gift from a certain someone and i was wondering if you could help me find them.”

you reveal the small bouquet of multicolored flowers from behind you, tied neatly with a piece of ribbon from your supply bin. 

max’s eyes widen just a fraction behind his square-framed glasses. his cheeks flush a pretty pink. 

“oh!” he stutters out. “i-i-wouldn’t really know anything about that, um i don’t think.” 

max scratches at his neck awkwardly. 

you laugh. 

”max, i know it’s you. somehow, my 1st graders picked up on it before me, which is kind of crazy, but they kind of snitched on you.”

he turns even redder. 

“i’m sorry,” he blurts out. “i hope it’s not weird- it’s just that i think i really like you, and that my friend charles suggested i give you a gift sometime, but i keep getting caught up in the classroom but also get too scared to give you the flowers and i thought-“

“-max,” you say, cutting him off. “it’s okay, i don’t mind at all- i thought it was really sweet. i haven’t had a chance to know you very well, but i’d love to know you better. we can do my house, this weekend? i’d really like some tips on how to deal with rowdy 1st graders!”

you add in a reassuring smile.

”yes!” he snaps as soon you finish talking. “wait, sorry, i meant um, i would love to,” he quickly adds.

”great!” you beam. ”it’s a date then!”

he smiles shyly at you. 

“it’s a da-“

a sudden screech cuts off max halfway, leading the both of you to turn towards the doorway. 

somehow, ollie, kimi, doriane, and maya have snuck inside again. they stand there, wide-eyed, at the scene.

doriane points an accusing finger at you.  “ewww!!!!” she yells at the top of her lungs. “that’s disgusting! you’re going on a date with a boy! he’s gonna give you cooties!”

[i-cant-sing]

TT AU PART 13

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Part 9 is here. Part 10 is here. Part 11 is here. Part 12 is here. Part 14 is here! Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

"I cant do this."

He rolls his eyes. "Not with that attitude." He runs a hand through his hair before nodding at you to follow him. You both enter the dance studio that his grandfather built for his wife inside the house because he loved her and well, he had the money.

"Silas, no one can learn ballet in a month." You state again and he lets out an exhale while Cadbury is bringing in about a dozen of ballet flats. "Even if your grandmother were to try and teach me, I still wont be good enough to perform in front of the queen-"

"Your voice is shrill and piercing and thoroughly unpleasant."

You blink at him before scowling. "A simple "shut up" would suffice, you know."

Silas glances at you. "What is this really about? Are you pretending to have low self esteem so I could offer you sympathy?"

"Excuse me?" Your tone sharpened. "Not that I like to remind anyone of the favours I do, but maybe you have forgotten that I literally saved your social image and status from being tarnished yesterday? Or did you forget about our Nikkah?"

Silas suddenly leaned down, bringing his face close to yours. You backed away, and he tilted his head slightly. "And I'm eternally grateful for that, missus, but the Nikkah saved your image too. Must I remind you that I converted to Islam too?"

"Because it benefitted you, not me." You spat out, only to inhale sharply as he gripped your chin firmly.

"As is the stipend I've been paying you, yet you fail to write a single article on the murders."

He pouted, feigning hurt. "Besides, are you saying I am not a real Muslim? That I have malicious intentions? Doesnt that go against your teachings- what is it? Not to judge someone?"

"I dont need to judge when its all so apparent-"

"Ah, good to see the love birds again!" Sarah's voice made you two pull away from each other. She clasped her hands as she made her way towards you two.

"Nana." Silas greeted her and kissed her cheeks. "Thank God you're here. My sweetheart is so concerned over this performance, even though I've assured her many times that she will be learning from the best. There's just no way she would mess this up!"

Sarah laughed heartily. "Stop buttering me up! And she is right to be concerned. Anyone would be nervous to perform in front of an audience, especially the queen!"

Silas wrapped one arm each around your and Sarah's shoulders, pulling you two close to him. "I only see a queen and a princess here. There's no need to be nervous. Just have fun!"

Just have fun? What kind of bullshit motivation is that-

Sarah smiled and nodded. "He's right, Y/n. As long as you're having fun, you're going to be just fine darling!"

-

Colin never thought he'd have to resort to day drinking.

And yet here he is, adding whatever he could grab his hands on and fill the flask with and mixing it in his coffee.

I need this. He reasoned with himself. Its not that much, just small doses to keep me sane when Y/n comes.

And then you do, in your Sherlock Holmes disguise, cheerfully greeting him before going to Will's office to work on the murder story.

He takes another sip of his coffee as he tries to process... well, everything.

Why was I attracted to you? Why am I still attracted to you even though I acted as a witness to your wedding with that rich bastard-

Another sip. He scowled before adding some more liquour, then he sipped it. Better.

Whats the best way to get over a crush? Crush? Is that what you were? An infatuation, a passing by fancy? So, how do I get over-

Wait. He set his mug down. You know that he and the boys all know that your marriage to Silas is a sham. You never really hid the fact but now they had all witnessed that it was just a rushed, possibly contractual marriage that Silas wants to save his ass.

So the marriage is bound to end. He doesnt have to get over you. No, not really. If anything, I should be spending more time with you. Yes. Yes! This way, when you and Silas end things, Colin will be right there to comfort you and support you! He needs to be the first man there after you dump Silas, lest anyone else gets ideas and wants to marry you as well.

Colin got up and managed to make his way to his boss's office without bumping into anyone. He's going to ask to work on the murder story and then you two will spend time-

"No. Keep working on the asylum story. We have enough people on the murder case." His boss dismissed him.

Colin slumped in his desk as he looked at the coffee mug. Eh, what the hell? He took another sip and another solution popped in his head.

If he cant help you with the murder story, then perhaps you can help him with the asylum story!

-

Silas handed you the invite.

"How did you get it so fast?" You asked, examining the small paper with elegant writing. It was the invite to the Gentleman's club, the one Henry owns. You'd asked Silas to get you an invite to what was an exclusive, members only club (when you tried entering the club, the men at the front laughed you out.)

Silas looked at you unamused, with his arms crossed over his chest. "Must I remind you who I am?"

A pompous ass?

"Of course not, my duke." You said mockingly, before raising a brow at him. "I suppose it would make sense for you to get easy access to shady places like this. You might be their popular customer."

"Oh darling, I'm popular everywhere." Silas shot back before dismissing you with his hand. "You can go now."

"What? You arent going to ask me why I'm going there?" You asked him. "Maybe you dont care that I am going there, but arent you worried about Mrs Fitzgerald or Duchess Y/n being in a place like that?"

Silas shrugged nonchalantly. "No." He leaned back in his chair. "I trust you not to screw up or entangle yourself in scandals. But even if you do end up in trouble, I will stand by you."

"You will?" You couldn’t hide the disbelief in your tone.

He nodded. "Of course. Look, I know we are in this... unconventional relationship and it appears that I couldnt care less about your existence, but you still carry my surname next to yours. And I wont allow anyone to disrespect what or who is associated with me. So, rest assured-" He leans forward, resting his arms on the mahogany desk and clasped his hands. "you have my support in all your endeavours, Mrs Silas."

A small smile formed on your lips. Maybe he's not so bad.

"Thank you, Silas- oh, can you drop me off there?" You knew he was going to leave in the carriage soon.

"No, I dont want my beautiful, pure bred stallions to go through those dirty streets. You can walk."

Jerk.

You stomped out of his study, not noticing the butler going in after you with the dessert you'd made for yourself last night.

"And what's this?" Silas asked him as he took a bite of the decadent, gooey chocolatey dessert.

"Uh, the duchess called it "brown-ies", but I've never heard of it before." Cadburry watched Silas ate it and sighed dreamily. "Do you like it, sir?"

"No." Silas pushed the empty plate towards him. "But I'd rather not have grandmother eat her cooking and say something. Bring me the leftovers."

"Y/n- oh, are you going somewhere?" Sarah asked just as you were about to leave.

"Yes, um- I'm going to meet my friends." Its not like you could tell her that you worked in the paper disguised as a man.

"Male friends?" She asked.

"Yes. My old flatmates." You watched her smile falter. "What?"

"Nothing, dearie. Enjoy your time with them! I hope you'll join us for dinner." You nodded and left while Sarah looked for her grandson.

"Where's Silas? I must speak to him this instant." She asked the maid, who informed her that the duke had went to play tennis just moments ago.

"Tennis?"

The maid nodded. "Yes. With his uncles."

Sarah was a little surprised to hear that. Not the tennis part, no. Silas is extremely well at any sport he plays, but she knows her sons arent ones who are good at athletics, let alone at a sport as strenuous as tennis.

An idea popped in her head.

-

You stood outside the Gentleman's club, watching people go in. Smoothing your hands over your black velvet dress, you made your way to the door.

After handing them your invitation, they let you inside and you saw a waiter handing everyone masquerade masks from a silver tray. Perhaps it was the theme for the club tonight, or maybe the club just gave masks to everyone to conceal their identities.

You were given a black and gold mask that covered the upper half of your face. As you adjusted the mask over your face, you heard a familiar voice.

"I need to see her. Now." You looked over your shoulder and saw Benjamin harshly whisper to one of the waiters. "She told me to come and I'm late as it is. Dont make her wait any longer!" You turned your head away as the waiter lead Benjamin into the club, all while Benjamin yanked a mask off the tray and pulled it over his head.

What is Benny doing here?

You quickly followed him inside, lest you lost sight of him, which you did as soon as you stepped into the main hall and were immediately stunned to your place at the sight.

Loud jazz music played by a band live, smell of smoke and alcohol filled the air and people. There were so many people, despite the club being "exclusive". And as your eyes scanned them, trying to spot familiar faces, your heart dropped at the realisation of what they were doing.

This was... an adult club. That kind of adult club, the one where there are absolutely no limitations on who is doing what with whom, all drunk on pleasure and drugs of course, no inhibitions. You spotted men with men, women with men, and more than one person pleasing another man.

Thats why this is an exclusive club, why they gave everyone masks. Because if word got out that a someone was here doing.... something that was generally a taboo and even punishable by both God and the law, well it would put them in huge trouble. People came here to let loose, to give in to their darkest desires.

What the hell is Benny doing here?

Averting your eyes, you looked for Benjamin and spotted him from afar, going into a room.

Oh God, please dont let it be a- please dont let sweet Benny be a depraved creep.

You waited for him to come out and after about 20 minutes, the door finally opened.

Benny walked out first, adjusting his mask again and then leaving. You're about to follow him, perhaps even confront him for being here when someone else walks out of the room as well.

A tall woman wearing a bright red, backless dress and a golden mask concealing her identity. But what really stood out were two things- first, her fiery red-orange hair that was styled into voluminous Hollywood waves. And second was her figure, her athletic built, or more specifically her broad shoulders and muscled arms.

Everything about this woman screamed important. And if it werent for her looks that demanded attention, then it was certainly her aura. People parted the way when she walked past them, all looking at her as if she was their saviour, an angel or divinity among men, which is ironic considering where you were.

You jumped as you felt an arm snake around your waist.

"What the hell?!" You looked at the culprit, who turned out to be a blonde woman drunk off her head.

"Oh dont be like that! Come on, love, let me show you a good time-" She tried to touch you again but you backed away before she could.

"No, thank you." You dismissed her, going back to looking at the red head.

"Prude." The blonde muttered before following your gaze. "Oh so thats what you're into? Well, put me in a red wig and we can play like that!"

"No, thanks." You huffed, eyes still trained on the woman in red.

The blonde scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, its not like you'd be able to sleep with the club owner."

"She's the club owner? I thought Mr Blackwood owned this place."

"He does, but Lady Scarlett there runs this place, from entertainment to management. She does it all!"

Lady Scarlett? Fitting name.

Pushing away the blonde one more time, you looked for Lady Scarlett, except you lost sight of her now. You scanned the entire ballroom, but she was nowhere in sight.

"Shit." You mumbled, turning around only to stumble back as you came face-to-face with her, or well... face-to-chest. She towered over you.

Her bright red lips smiled knowingly at you. "Looking for me?" She asked in a sultry voice, stalking towards you until you were backed up against the wall.

"N-no-" You yelped as she suddenly grabbed both of your wrists in one hand and pinned them above your head.

You stared at her wide eyed as she leaned down, hovering inches away from your face and thats when it hit you-

Lady Scarlett is a man.

Of course! The muscled arms, the manly built, and now on close inspection, you saw the clean shave under the makeup too.

"Y-you're a man." You stated in disbelief, hoping to catch her or him, off guard. What even is he? A drag queen? A trans? You dont know if they existed in victorian era.

Scarlett tilted her head. "So? Are you the only one who is allowed to cross dress as the other gender?"

What? No, no way she knows-

She leaned in closer, whispering in your ear. "Did I catch you off guard, Mr Holmes?"

She knows!

"How- how did you-"

She smirked. "I know everyone that is associated with Mr Blackwood." She brought a hand up to your face, and you noticed a golden ring on her ring finger. She cupped your face. "And I know for a fact Henry wouldnt like his latest infatuation snooping around in a place like this. So..." She leaned into you again, staring into your eyes. "Leave."

You didnt have to be told twice. Lady Scarlett, that cross dresser creeped you out, even more so when she already knew you.

Stumbling out of the club, you removed your mask, dropping it to the ground. The fresh night air filled your lungs and cleared out the smokey air from the club. It was quiet outside, considering it was way past midnight and everyone was home now.

And I have to walk all the way home. You huffed, rubbing your arms. Because my husband would rather I get hypothermia than let his precious ponies walk through these streets.

You turn around, walking away from the club to see if there was a carriage available at this time, when you hear a shrill scream from the alleyway you're walking past.

And there it is- a woman lying in a puddle of her own blood as huge, dark figure slashed her face over and over again. The moonlight hit the woman's face- a blonde woman-

-the blonde from the club.

Frozen in your place, the figure stood up and looked at you, not at all looking startled at being caught mutiliating someone. It was definitely a man, huge stature, and he stared at you, the dark night concealing his identity. He slowly bent down to pick something up, a top hat, dusting it off before placing it on his head.

And then he tipped his hat at you.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck-

It wasnt until he took a step towards you that you finally broke out of your trance and ran. You ran and ran, not even risking a look back, not realising where you were running off to until you burst through their door, out of breath and paler than white paint.

"Y/n?" Colin rushed towards you, the Shepherd and Liam rushing into the living room as Colin helped you inside. "What happened? What's wrong?" He feared, as did all the boys, that Silas had done something to you.

"I- I- I-" You shake your head, the image of the dark figure running through your mind, the hat, the long cloak, the knife- it finally pieced together.

"I think I saw Jack the Ripper."

-

You sat at the police station with Colin. After explaining everything, he'd convinced you to report the murder.

The detective lead you inside the interrogation room, motioning for you to sit down as you began giving your statement.

"And who did you think the murderer was?"

"Jack the Ripper." Your answer made him roll his eyes. "And who might that be, miss?"

"I dont know." The investigator shook his head exasperated. "Of course you dont." He muttered, then sighed.

"So, what were you doing at this club?"

"Me?" You didnt pause for long. "I was invited there. My- my husband wanted me to attend on his behalf."

"Your husband-" he paused, reading your surname on the paper. "Fitzgerald? Wait, you're Mrs Silas Fitzgerald?" You nodded, making him sigh. "Guess it makes sense for you to be there..."

Whats that supposed to mean?

"Did you see anyone familiar there?"

"No." You answered curtly, before adding another detail. "Everyone was wearing masks. Couldnt recognise anyone even if I wanted to."

What? I'm not gonna rat out Benjamin and make him the prime suspect without gathering all the facts before.

It's definitely not because I have a soft spot for him since he reminds me of Qasim so much. Nope.

The door suddenly swung open and in walked what you assumed was the detectives superior since the man got up.

"Is this the witness for club murder?" The higher up asked him.

"Yes sir, she was just giving her statement-"

"No need. Dismiss the witness and the case. It's been handled." He told the detective who only nodded.

"Handled by who? You can't just dismiss the case!" You exclaimed getting up. But before he could reply, someone walked in from behind him.

"You can go now, Smith. I'll see Miss Y/n gets home safely." Henry patted the higher ups shoulder who left with the detective.

"What are you doing, Henry?" You crossed your arms.

"I could ask you the same." He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms as well.

"I'm reporting a murder that happened outside your club! I saw him-"

"Saw who? Jack the Ripper?" He scoffed. "You think you saw him, but all you really saw was a dark shadow."

You shake your head. "I did see him-!"

"And how do you know that he's Jack the Ripper?" He pushed himself off the door frame, walking closer to you. "How do you know that he's the Ripper when no one knows who the man is?!"

You pursed your lips. You could argue that the victim profile and post mortem show a matching pattern but you doubt Henry is going to listen to reason.

"Even so, you should still let me give my statement. Why are you adamant on me not giving one? A woman was murdered for God's sake!" You try to walk past him, but he grabs your arm and yanks you back, making your chest collide with his.

"She was my employee. She worked for the club. And you-" his face hardened. "-you are insulting her death by making it a public frenzy. By stating that some sick nobody, someone who was nicknamed by the papers just to strike fear in people's hearts, killed her. I will not let you use her death so that your paper could make a quick buck! Jack the Ripper is a nobody!"

-

"Why do you think Blackwood's trying to cover up the murder?" Colin asked you as you two made your way towards your next destination.

"I dont know." You huffed. "Maybe he knows who the murderer is? Maybe he's protecting his business? Surely, if people were to hear that a serial killer made an appearance near his club, he'd lose clients."

"Or maybe he's the killer." You stopped and looked at him. Colin looked at you knowingly. "It would make sense for him to be Jack the Ripper, or at least the man who murdered that woman. It is very suspicious of him to probably bribing the coppers to drop the case."

You shake your head. "Its too obvious."

He rolled his eyes. "What? So Henry cant be the murderer because its “too obvious?” People make mistakes-"

"Not Henry." You cut him off. "He's too smart, calculating. There's got to be another reason for him to be sweeping this all under the carpet."

Colin shakes his head in disbelief, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked ahead. "We're here."

You followed his gaze and saw the building. The sign on the gate read-

"Aveline's Asylum"

"Really? Right now?" You asked Colin, who just smiled cheekily.

"It'll take your mind off things. Just take a break and help me on this assignment and we can go back to speculating what Blackwood's motives are." He raised his brows. "Plus, I think you'll enjoy this one."

You followed him inside the asylum, walking through the lush green gardens and seeing the pristine white building ahead, you wondered how this would help Colin's "exposing horrendous hospital environments and patient care" article when all of this reall just screamed "rehab for the rich".

"Shouldnt we go to an asylum that is in much worse conditions than this? Possibly next to a workhouse?" You asked him, but Colin just smiled. "Why did you choose this place, Colin?”

"You'll see." He says before whispering to you. "Remember your script. And... action!”

While pretending to be insane (which was easy because all you had to say was that you don’t think being a mom or stay-at-home wife is your life’s purpose), you saw a familiar figure there. And he saw you too.

“Y/n? Colin?” Benjamin looked surprised. “What are you two doing here?”

“Working on an article.” Colin replied, glancing at the way you’d gotten quiet, staring at Benjamin.

“Oh. Right, the horrible healthcare environment. But why this place? Its practically one of the finest asylums, housing mostly the wealthy of London.”

Colin nodded. “I know! But I have a hunch about this place-”

“What are you doing here?” You cut him off.

“Me? Oh, I’m here to give haircuts.” Ben chuckled nervously. “Its not a noble cause, but the wealthy unwell patients do pay a lot.”

“Mmhm, where’s your hair kit?” You remember distinctly that Ben was very particular about using his own scissors, so he often carried his own.

Ben looked caught off-guard by your question, but he quickly recovered. “The nurses provided me with their own. Cant carry scissors around an asylum now, can I?”

How convenient.

Colin continued to make small talk with Ben, while you studied him. Even if you didn’t tell anyone that you saw Ben at the club the night of the murder, doesn’t mean that you didn’t suspect him. For all you know, appearances can be deceiving and this sweet man may just be the infamous Jack the Ripper.

Blonde haired, the kindest eyes, the sweetest smile, a golden retriever in human form- could Benjamin really have killed all those women so brutally? Then again, Ted Bundy was also known for his good looks and superficial charm.

Am I really comparing Benny to Ted Bundy? God, I hope I’m wrong.

“I should go now. See you at home?” Ben asked you, hopeful.

“Maybe.” You shrugged, Ben’s smile faltering at your answer. He then raised his hand to shake Colin’s and thats when you noticed a distinctly familiar golden ring on his hand.

The same one you’d seen on Lady Scarlett’s hand.

And just like that, everything fell into place.

-

By the time you’d reached home, you’d pieced out the story. Ben being at the exclusive club and being discrete about it, seen in a room with Lady Scarlett, both wearing the same rings-

He’s in a relationship with her. Or him.

Thats why Ben was at that club! Homosexuality or anything else that isn’t heterosexuality was simply not accepted in Victorian England, and was possibly punishable by law! Just look at Oscar Wilde! Ben is dating Scarlett, keeping it discrete, he never committed any murders because he’s not Jack the Ripper. He’s just not straight!

Oh, I’m so glad you’re not the Ripper, Benny. I knew you weren’t capable of committing such heinous crimes.

As for why he was at the asylum, maybe he’s telling the truth. He did come to give the rich patients a haircut because he needs the money to maintain Scarlett’s lifestyle or maybe be rich enough to whisk her/him away from the club.

Benny is such a gentleman.

Now that Benny is no longer a suspect, that leaves Henry to be the main suspect. Maybe he’s not the one killed the woman, maybe he hired someone? Or maybe Henry’s not the killer either, its just too- obvious.

“Why do you think Henry stopped me from reporting the murder?” You asked Silas as you whisked the eggs before adding them to the pan. Silas had entered the kitchen the moment he heard you were cooking, though he did shoot you a weird look for making scrambled eggs at 11 pm. With you running around London all day, you hadn’t found time to eat until now, and you were just looking for a quick meal really.

“He probably doesn’t want you scaring off his customers. If word gets out that a murderer, or as you claim- “The Ripper” was seen near the club, then people wont be frequenting the place. Or perhaps he’s protecting the murderer?” Silas suggests, swallowing as the smell of butter wafts through the kitchen.

You add cubes of cold butter in, then look at him. “What? You don’t believe that I saw the Ripper?”

“I believe that if you really saw the Ripper, then you wouldn’t still be alive. He had the time and the opportunity to get rid of you.Why else would the notorious killer would let a witness get away?” Silas crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the kitchen counter near the stove.

“Maybe because he targets prostitutes? All of his previous victims match that profile.”

“Like he could tell a difference-”

“Are you saying I look like a prostitute?” You dished out the eggs. “No, you’re saying that. I’m saying that the man you saw kill that woman was just an amateur who was caught offguard by you, otherwise he would’ve attacked you too.” Silas states before grabbing the plate of buttery scrambled eggs on toast from your hands.

“Hey! Thats mine-” “My kitchen, my eggs.” He smirked before walking off. “You can make yourself more, I need to feed my dogs first.”

You glared at him until he left the kitchen, not knowing whether he really was going to feed it to the dogs or it was just a lie disguised as an insult so that he could eat it himself.

It was the latter. Always.

-

The next day, after you’d taken another ballet lesson from Sarah, you were about to go out to investigate the club again but Sarah had other plans for you.

“Y/n, I need you to stay at home today.”

“Oh, is everything alright?” You ask. She never made you stay home before. “Are we having company?”

“No. I think that you should play some sports to keep yourself fit. As a ballerina, it is important to keep both the mind and the body sound, and what better way to achieve that than by playing in the sun!” She lead you outside towards the tennis court, hidden by the huge bushes for privacy from outsiders.

“Tennis?” You ask her, and she confirms it. “Yes. Do you know how to play?”

Do I know how to- if I wasn’t so obsessed with history and sciences (and my mom scared that me wearing a skirt would attract predators), I had plans on playing professionally. Qasim and I used to play tennis at the club he’d won a membership in. We were both very competitive but he was just always a little better than me. He always knew my moves, he read me like an open book.

I was second only to Qasim though. Everyone else? They ate dust.

“Yes, I do.” You smiled at her. “Who am I playing with?”

“Me.” Silas spoke from behind you, dressed in all-white tennis wear. He looked at Sarah unamused. “Nana, I thought you said you had a worthy opponent for me.”

You shot him a glare, but Sarah came to your defense. “Now, now. You don’t know how capable your wife is. And I’m willing to bet that she’d make you run out of breath, Silas.”

You smiled cheekily as Silas scoffed. “We’ll see.” Sarah places a hand on your back. “Why don’t you go get changed, dear? I had the maids prepare an outfit for you.” When you left, Sarah looked at Silas. “Now Silas, I know you play exceptionally well but you must remember that this match is more of a way to spend time with your wife. Not a way to show off. So, be a gentleman, hm?”

You huffed as you returned to the tennis court. What the hell is this? Silas gets to wear a shirt and pants and I have to wear a full length dress with a corset and a hat?!

Mom would probably have let me gone pro if this was the official tennis wear for women.

Sarah sat on the side lines and watched you two play. Silas let you serve first and after a couple of back-and-forth, you won the first point. And then the next. And the next.

“Ah, you’re doing fantastic, Y/n!” Sarah cheered before standing up when the butler informed her that a guest has come to see her. “I’ll be back! You two keep playing!”

As Sarah left, you couldn’t help but tease Silas. What? He still makes you sleep on the floor! “So, how does it feel to lose to a girl?”

“I wouldn’t know.” And with that, Silas threw the ball in the air and served.

The ball shot past your head, just centimetres away from hitting you.

“What the hell? I wasn’t ready-”

“Lame excuses dont work on me.” He pulled out another ball and bounced it. “Are you ready now, duchess?”

You scowled at him before getting in position. “I’m ready, jerk.”

You lost two of the three matches. The first match you almost won was because Sarah was there and Silas was going easy on you, but when Sarah left, Silas regained all those points by serving topspin and slice serves. By the second match, you were finally able to return his fast serves, but now Silas used his speed and your lack of because of your heavy dress and made you run around all over the court trying to return his fast shots. By the third match, you were all out of breath but not out of determination. So, Silas decided that now would be the time to use your body as target practise and he hit the ball over your legs and arms, only stopping when one shot hit you in the head and made you fall on the ground.

“Are you okay?” He asked, barely suppressing the glee in his voice. He held out a hand to help you up, but you swatted it away and got up on your own.

“Finish the game.” You growled and he raised his hands in surrender before returning to his side of the court. For the rest of the third match, he missed all the shots you served and let you win. And he did it so openly, not even being courteous enough to hide his intentions.

Sarah watched you return inside the house, looking all sweaty and angry as you stomped unto your room. Silas trailed in behind, a satisfied grin on his face and Sarah shook her head at him disappointedly. “What did you do, Silas?”

“Nothing. I even let her win the last round, but she’s still angry.” Sarah looked at him admonishingly, making him sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll go talk to her. The things I do for you, Nana.”

“The things you do for love, Silas.” She corrected him.

Sure. Silas rolled his eyes mentally. I “love” Y/n.

Silas entered the bedroom and saw you had showered and changed into new clothes. “Going somewhere? Perhaps to get some handkerchiefs to wipe all the sweat and tears?” He watched you glare at him through the mirror and he chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, I’m sorry. I’m just teasing. But seriously, where are you going? I could give you a ride.”

“I’m going to an asylum with Colin.” You huff, packing some things in your small purse. Silas nodded. “Good idea to get yourself finally checked-” He dodged the hairbrush you threw at his head, chuckling. “Now now, duchess. It isn’t exactly speaking much for your mental health for you to be chucking things at your dear husband.”

Ignoring his antics, you slipped on your shoes, walking out of the room. He trailed behind you. “Dont be mad. I’m just playing around. Come on, I’ll drop you off at Saint Peters asylum. Its on my way to work.”

“I’m not going to Saint Peters. I’m going to Aveline’s.” You stated, ready to walk off but he grabbed your arm.

“What?” You looked at his shocked face. “What?” You repeated his question. Why did he suddenly look so pale.

“Where are you going?” He asked, his grip tightening when you tried to move. “Which asylum?”

“Aveline’s.” You frowned, grabbing his hand and removing it from your arm. Silas expression paled further.

“Why?”

You shrugged. “Colin wants to do an article on horrible asylum conditions and treatment of patients-”

“Dont.” Silas ordered more than he suggested. “That place- don’t go there.”

“And why not?” You looked at him skeptically. “Colin wants to do a piece on the place-”

“Pick another asylum. I can get you access to any other.” Silas ignored your question, averting his eyes. “You will not go there, and you will not write a piece on that asylum.”

You grabbed his arm to make him look at you. “What are you hiding, Silas?”

Silas stared at you before yanking his arm out of your grasp. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Just- do as I say.” He raised finger, wagging it at your warningly. “I’m telling you- you will not go there again, Y/n. And if I find out that you or Colin or anyone else tried to write about that place, I will shut down that paper and make sure none of them find a job ever.”

You watched Silas leave you there standing dumbfounded.

Did he really just threaten me?

This bitch.

-

Silas watched you leave from the window. He knows you wont listen to him, knows that its inevitable to try to stop you from going to Aveline, so he already sent someone to bribe the staff to not let you on the asylum premises. He’s not worried about who you’re meeting or where you’re going, just as long as its not Aveline.

No. He closed his eyes, painful memories flashing through his mind. You cant know. You cant know.

He sat down on his chair, trying to think of ways to divert your attention from the asylum. You’re as stubborn as a mule, you wont listen to him. So he has to create distractions for you.

Jack the Ripper!

Of course, the murder case!

“Cadburry!” He called his butler. “Arrange me an invite for the Gentleman’s club. Now.”

You were sitting in the boys apartment, Benjamin playing with your hair out of habit, braiding it, unbraiding it, then braiding it again. Colin sat confused. “Why cant we go to the asylum today?”

“I’m not in the mood to see depressing white halls today. Besides, I have an errand to run.” You lean your head further back for Benny.

“And what that might be?” Colin was intrigued.

“Girly errand. You wont understand.” You dismiss him. “But we’ll go to Aveline’s again, thats for sure.” You felt Benny tug your hair at that statement.

“Ow! Benny!” You glare at him. Ben shakes out of his daze, apologising profusely. “Sorry, sorry! I was just lost in my thoughts.”

A coy smile formed on your lips. Lost in thought? Oh, I know exactly what kind of thoughts you’re having, Benny.

Colin stood up with a sigh. “Alright then. I’ll go to office and start writing down a draft.” You nodded as he left you alone with Ben.

Once you heard the door click, you immediately turned around. “Hey, Benny.”

He gave you a gentle smile. “Hey, Y/n.”

“So…” you wiggled your brows at him. “What’s going on with you?”

“Hmm… nothing much really. I got a new customer who wanted a toupee. Apparently word got around that I’m a very skilled barber, no matter how much hair one has or lack of, I can make it work!”

“Yes, thats lovely Benny, but-” you cleared your throat. “I meant, whats going on with you, personally. You look happier, livelier these days.”

He shrugged, offering you another sweet smile. “I guess that’s just the effect you have on people around you.”

Ugh! Stop being so charming, Benny!

“Thanks, Benny. But… I don’t know, I feel like there’s something different about you.” You tried another approach. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I wont ever judge you or anything.”

Though he was smiling, you saw something flicker in his eyes. Doubt? Fear?

“What do you mean, Y/n?” He asked, his voice stable as usual.

Your eyes studied him.

“Did you meet someone new?”

There it is! That flicker in his eyes. His face didn’t let anything away but his eyes, you saw it.

“Yes.” Finally, we’re getting somewhere. “I met you.”

Stupid Benny. Annoying Benny.

Sighing, you realise that maybe he’s just not ready to come out yet. And that I shouldn’t take it personally because I am close with him and he could tell me anything, just like Qasim would. It would be unfair to force Ben to tell you about Lady Scarlett before he’s ready.

“Thanks, Benny.” You said, hiding your disappointment. “I have to go now. Have to go… run that errand.”

“Oh, need me to come?” He got up with you. You shake your head. “No, I’ll manage on my own.”

Why would I tell you when you wont tell me about your love?

-

You were now standing outside the club again. You had initially returned to the back alley to investigate the crime scene again but it had been scrubbed clean and Henry had somehow managed to get a permit to start construction to expand the club further.

He was erasing the crime scene. Henry was trying to hide something.

Speak of the devil, you saw Henry exit the club and get in his carriage. Once you were sure he’d left, you made your way towards the club entrance, still having the invite from last time, only for the guards to stop you.

“I’m sorry but Mr Blackwood has forbidden you from entering the club, Miss Y/n.” One guard said, holding a hand up to halt you.

“Mrs Fitzgerald.” You corrected him, hoping to use the name to get by. “I am the duchess of Westminster!”

“Forgives us, Miss Y/n, but Mr Blackwood specifically instructed us to not let you in and he also instructed us not to address you by anything but Miss Y/n or- um…” The other guard trailed off, making you narrow your eyes at him.

“Or?” You sneered at him to continue.

“Or… future-Mrs Blackwood.” He mumbled but you heard him loud and clear.

I’m going to kill him.

“Listen here and listen clear!” Your voice took a threatening tone, though you’re sure it would look comical to an outsider seeing a woman of your stature trying to intimidate men who were towering over you with their buff physiques.

“I am going to only be addressed as MRS FITZGERALD and you will let me in this club right now or I will have my husband, the duke of Westminster, shut this place down before your twat boss would dare to associate his name with me again!” You yelled with your nostrils flared. “Now, you will march in and inform Lady Scarlett that I’m here to see her. And if she says no, tell her I know about the rings!”

The guards shared a look, probably trying to communicate telepathically whether to let you in or not.

Fortunately for you, your huffing and puffing seemed to work and one of them walked in before returning moments later.

“Please wait for a short while Lady Scarlett entertains some guests.”

After about 20 long minutes, during which you were sure Henry would turn up and have you carried off the premises, the guards finally lead you inside.

“This way, future Mrs Blackwood.” You shot him a glare but didn’t say anything since you were inside the club anyways. They lead you up the stairs towards the room that you had seen Ben go into the last time you were here.

The door opened and you saw a large bed on one side, silk sheets and plush cushions adorning it, and a huge vanity in the other corner, full of makeup and expensive jewels, all arranged in an orderly manner. Then there was a table next to the vanity on which sat a variety of beautiful red haired wigs.

“They’re made from real hair.” A voice said from behind you. You turned to see Lady Scarlett, wearing a maroon robe and a black mask covering her identity. Her trademark red hair, still styled as beautifully as the first time you saw it and that bright red lipstick on her lips. “Benjamin was sweet enough to get them for me.”

She walked past you and sat down on a couch next to the window that opened to the balcony outside, and then she lit up a cigarette, holding it in a vintage cigarette holder.

Not that I would ever condone a nasty habit such as smoking, but she looked absolutely badass in that moment.

“What do you want, Mrs Blackwood?” Scarlett let out a huge exhale of smoke.

“Fitzgerald. I know about the rings.” You state, watching her take another drag.

“What rings?” She asked, feigning innocence.

“The golden rings.” You narrow your eyes. “I saw it on your hand that night and I saw it on Benjamin’s hand as well. I know whats going on, and I’m here to talk about that.” Taking a deep breath, you blurted out your suspicions.

“I know you and Benjamin are in a relationship.”

She looked up at you expectedly, not at all alarmed at being caught. Then again, why would she be caught off guard? Considering the line of business she’s in, she probably has practiced her poker face.

“Is that so, Mrs Blackwood?” Scarlett’s lip’s curled up. “So what?”

So what?

“Look, I mean no harm, but I- I care about Benjamin a lot. He’s like family to me, and I know its not my place but I am very protective of him and I just… I’m just here to make sure that this is not some sort of game for you. I don’t want you playing with his feelings, so if you’re not serious about him then I suggest you end things with him now before it gets too messy.”

Scarlett looked at you before chuckling. “As you wish, Mrs Blackwood.” He stood up with a click of his tongue. “Now, is that all or do you have any more shocking news to pass on to me, Mrs Blackwood? I suggest you do it now because you wont be stepping a foot in this club again.”

“Its Mrs Fitzgerald. And I don’t plan on returning to this depraved scum either.”

“Depraved scum, huh?” Scarlett tilted her head slightly in a mocking manner. “Since you insist on calling yourself Mrs Fitzgerald so proudly, let me show you something as well.” He opened the door and lead you towards the top of the stairwell, from where you could see everyone and everything down below on the dance floor.

She nodded her head to the far right corner and your heart dropped for a second. Is that-

“Mr Fitzgerald seems to be enjoying himself. Though not all that much.” Scarlett said as your eyes remained focused on Silas who was sitting on a chair, looking uninterested by the different women who surrounded him. “Maybe he likes boys. I’ll send some his way-” You rushed out of the club, not able to hear another word or see Silas for another moment longer.

-

Its been a couple of days since you went to the club. Of course, when you arrived home and waited for Silas to return, who upon your questioning about his whereabouts claimed he was meeting a businessman.

He lied.

You tried to distract yourself by taking more ballet lessons from Sarah, but still your attention lingered on him.

Why was he there?

You then tried to divert your mind towards work, and then here you are, sitting on your desk with a blank paper, ready to be filled with words.

Why was he there?

Dropping your pen because you knew you weren’t going to be able to get anything done until you processed your feelings about this.

What feelings? Certainly not jealousy because I am far more mature than this. Its just-

I thought he had standards. Taste. Sure I might not be fine wine, but I’m certainly better than those skank-

Nope. I am a woman. I will not be bringing other women down because of a man.

But Silas… how dare he? Yes, how dare he?! I am not jealous, I am insulted! How dare he act like he’s a polished aristocrat and I’m just ditzy, poorer than a church mouse, a NOBODY, when he goes around prancing his repute and himself in the utter gutters of London?

Maybe he’s just hypersexual. Yes, he’s a depraved, disgusting individual and I married him. Great. So the first man I married, had a NIKKAH with, turned out to be lying, cheating, piece of-

Why did he lie?

Its not like he expects me to sleep with him. If he did, why would he still make me sleep on the floor?

Baldwin would’ve never made me sleep on the floor, always covered me with his cloak because he knew how much the cold bothered me.

And he’s always so rude to me! He beat me at tennis, quite literally!

Salauddin always lost to me in chess. And he let me rub my wins in his face too!

Not to mention, how uncaring he is to my feelings!

Ibrahim always put my happiness above everything. He chose to wait for me, until I was safe- felt safe.

And of all of them, I ended up marrying Silas.

How dare he?

Pushing yourself back into your desk, you began writing down furiously. Fuck Silas, fuck Henry, and fuck Lady Scarlett! I WILL go back to Aveline Asylum, I WILL expose the the Ripper and- if I have time, maybe find Benny a better significant other!

“Woah there- what are you writing?” Colin came up behind you, frowning at the title he read.

“The Ripper strikes again! Murder outside the exclusive club for the wealthy freaks!” Colin looked at you. “Have you gone bonkers?”

“Yes.” You snapped. “You cant talk me out of it, so why don’t you go and get us access into Aveline asylum again. Discreetly, this time.”

By the time everyone was going home, you had finished your article and dropped it on the editor’s desk just as he was about to leave.

“Read this. Trust me, its worth it.” You look over your shoulder. “And I have a witness ready to go public- Mrs Fitzgerald.” Of course, the editor wouldn’t ever figure out that you are Mrs Fitzgerald, not Mr Holmes.

-

However, you were a little surprised to see that he hadn’t published your article in the paper the next morning. Storming to work, you quickly made your way towards the editor’s office, barging in without knocking.

“Hello there, love.” He smiled cheekily. Instead of your editor, Henry Blackwood sat in his chair, his legs propped up on the desk. “I was waiting for you.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“What? You can barge into my business, but I can’t swing by yours?” He asked, feigning hurt.

“No. Now leave.”

“Well then its a good thing that this is also my business now.” Henry grinned, removing his feet from the desk and replacing them with his arms, resting his head in his hand as he stared at your fuming self.

“What?”

“Oh love, you’re looking at your new boss. I just bought the paper this morning.” He winked, standing up and making his way to you. “See, I told you not to come by the club again, I told you to drop the Ripper case, and you didn’t listen either time. So, I’ve come here to tame you. Personally. Seems like you need my undivided attention, kitten-”

“I did drop the Ripper case. I didn’t give my statement to the police!” You exclaimed.

He tutted, wagging his finger at you. “No, but you did write an article. You’re lucky I was here before it got published.”

You frowned. “How- how did you know about the article? I wrote it yesterday, I gave it to the editor at the last moment-”

“I have eyes everywhere, Y/n.” He smirked, leaning down to whisper. “Especially on you, naughty kitten.”

Henry chuckled as he looked at your flushed face, mistaking your anger for bashfulness. He walked out of the door but not before passing another comment to tick you off.

“Nice moustache. Or shall I say… whiskers, kitten?”

-

For the next 3 days, you didn’t leave the house. You didn’t even leave your room. It seemed like all your previous pettiness-driven motivation had run out and dropped you into the well of depression. And here you wallowed in your sadness, taking Silas’s bed even when he was away and looking like a pitiful lump of sadness under the covers.

“What is wrong with you?” Silas asked, exasperated as he sat down on the bed to tie his shoes. “How long will this go on? You have missed your ballet classes and you are worrying grandmother.”

“I’m just sleepy, okay?” You mumbled from under the sheets. “Its not like sleeping on the cold, hard floor is helping me.”

“And it seems like sleeping in my bed hasn’t helped either.” He raised a brow. “Its been 3 days already. This has gone long enough. Now you can either tell me what is wrong or I will have Cadbury drag you out and hose you down in the gardens.”

You shoved the covers down to glare at him. Asshole. You don’t doubt that he would have his butler hose you down.

“I miss… I miss my brother.” You mumbled as you averted your eyes. “Qasim would fix everything for me. He always had a solution, always. And I- I need him right now. To guide me, to handle things for me.”

“So… why don’t you ask for his help?” Silas asked, fixing his tie.

You stared at his back before looking down at your lap. “We’re not on speaking terms… I’m mad at him.”

Silas rolled his eyes. “Well he’s your family, isn’t he? I’m sure you can still talk to him.”

“Cant.” You muttered gloomily, making Silas’s annoyance trigger off.

“And why the bloody hell not?” He turned to glare at you. “You cant get out of my bed! You cant attend work! You cant take your classes! You cant tell me what’s bothering you! And you cant talk to your own brother! Why!? Why?! WHY?!”

You flinched at his harsh town before tears filled your eyes.

“Because… he’s dead.”

Your statement rung in Silas’s ears like a daunting bell. Dead. Dead. Dead.

God, did he feel like shit now.

You threw the covers off you, getting out of bed as you fixed his sheets.

“Sorry for hogging your bed.” You sniffled, using your sleeve to wipe your tears as you walked past him, only for Silas to catch your wrist. With a gentle tug, he had you sitting back down on the bed.

“I’m sorry.” He said, sincerely. “I was just… frustrated due to things at work. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Its fine, whatever. You’re right, I’ll go to work and classes-” He tightened his grip on your wrist when you tried to leave.

“No.” He tilted your chin towards him. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong. I may not be your brother, but I am your husband.”

You stared at him conflicted. Did he really mean it?

He answered your silent question with a gentle squeeze of your hand. “I will fix your problems, Y/n.” He offered a smile. “Your duke is at your service.”

-

After you told Silas your work situation with Henry and how he’s stopping you from writing anything about Jack the Ripper, how you cant get anything done with his shadow looming over you and monitoring everything you do, Silas explained that solution to it was all simple.

“I will buy the paper from Henry.” He stated nonchalantly, as if he was talking about buying eggs not a newspaper company.

“I dont think he will give you the company. He wont put it up for sale-”

“Everything is for sale, Y/n. You just need to find the right price.” He stood up, assuring you he will buy the company. “I’ll get the company, if you promise to put on a great show. You focus on the ballet classes. After all, the show is only a week from now.”

The following seven days were filled with you doing ballet for hours and hours, all with one motivation.

Not to let Silas down.

Because if I let him down, if I embarrass him, then he wont get the paper from Henry. And I wont be able to find Jack the Ripper or help Colin with the asylum! And Silas will lose trust in me and wont let me have my space at the Westminster palace or wherever so that I can work on my time machine-

Time machine! You face palmed. I’ve been so busy with the murders and shitty men that I forgot to build my machine! My way home!

No, after the show, I’m- I’m demanding- I’m moving out. I don’t care if I get the paper or not, I need to build my machine.

“Oh Y/n, what are you doing in the storage- honey, are you alright? You look like you’re about to pass out! Cadbury! Hurry and open the windows!” Sarah guided you out of the dusty store to sit down, fanning you with her hands. “Oh dear, do you hate confined spaces like Silas too?”

You took deep breaths as fresh air flooded in through the windows, furrowing your brows. “What?”

“Nothing dear, I just thought you felt suffocated in closed spaces, like Silas!” She explained. “He cant stay in a room with closed windows for too long, you know.”

Now that she mentions it, she’s right. You don’t remember Silas being in a room without at least a window open, even as winter rolled around. Hell, he still opens the balcony windows in the bedroom as soon as he wakes up, but you thought that was because he hated your guts and wanted to give you an early wake up call by letting the cold air slap your face and rattle your bones.

“Why does he hate confined spaces?” You ask, letting her loosen your corset.

Sarah looked a little hesitant to tell you, but then relented when you asked her again. “He never told me the reason, but I figured it was the night when his mother passed away. Silas… he was just a young boy, he was hiding in his closet. He liked to scare his mother when she came to check on him, and so he often hid in the closet to give her a fright. He saw his mother get murdered while he was in the closet.” She looked down sadly. “Unfortunately, the killer’s identity was hidden by the dark night. Silas wasn’t able to identify who killed his mother, and I suppose he’s blamed himself a little for that incident.”

Damn. Thats… dark. And sad.

Maybe I can excuse Silas for being rude to me at times. Maybe. Just a tad.

The night of the ballet show rolled around quicker than you’d expected. And despite all the hours of practice and Sarah’s countless assurances that you’d be amazing, you knew the reality.

Your performance was barely passable.

From a young age, you were able to critique yourself very well. As Qasim said- “Only you know yourself the best!” And you knew right now, as you stood backstage, peeking through the curtains at the audience and spotting the queen and her family, you were utterly, truly set up for failure.

NO ONE CAN LEARN BALLET IN 2 MONTHS! AT LEAST NOT ENOUGH TO IMPRESS THE QUEEN!

Your stomach churned, you felt bile rise up your throat, your legs wobbled as you backed away from the curtain, stumbling away, right into Silas’s arms.

“Silas- Silas, I cant do this! I can’t! I can’t!” You cried out and Silas tightened his grip on your arms.

“Okay.”

Okay?

“What?”

“Okay. You cant do it.” He squeezes your shoulders. “I guess I’ll just tell everyone to go home. I’ll apologise to the queen and make up an excuse as to why she wont be seeing a performance by my wife tonight. But hey, she’s family. She’ll understand, right?”

You stared at him in confusion. Silas ran a hand through his fingers. “As for all the journalist who came here to write about you, and all the influential people I’ve invited over because this was your formal introduction into high society, I guess I’ll just have to make something up. But you-“ he gave you a warm smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “-you don’t worry your pretty little head over this. Its okay, I… well, if I’m being honest, I never really expected you to perform.”

“What?”

He shrugged. “I knew you’d back out at the last second. Oh well, what can we do. Now-” he rubbed his chin in thought. “Should I tell the guests that you’ve broken your leg? Or perhaps you cant perform because you’re with child? If we go with the first excuse, people may call you a ditz, maybe unprofessional. And they might come to check on you. But if we go with the second excuse, people will talk about- well, it has been only a month into our marriage-”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Is he… did he set you up?

“You expected me to not perform?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, Y/n. I expected you to fail to deliver what I require of you. I expected you to perform in front of an audience, and that was all I asked. I didn’t ask you to become a prima donna, I just wanted you to be good enough. Which you are in my opinion. But your doubt in yourself right now is only because you clearly haven’t spent enough time practising because you were too busy running around town, going to clubs and asylums and chasing after a murderer when all of your attention should’ve been on becoming a competent wife!” Silas fumed, tightening his grip on your shoulders. “I asked you again and again to focus on the ballet lessons, and you ignored my advice repeatedly and for what? Because you wanted to prove yourself? Because you wanted to play detective and solve murders? When you cant even do a simple job as putting on a show? And I knew- I knew you would abandon me like this, so you know what, Y/n? While I keep my end of the bargain, while I invited Henry tonight to talk him into selling the paper to me, you continue to let me down. So go on stage or don’t, I really don’t give a shit now. I can’t take your word ever again.”

Silas stormed off, leaving you shell shocked backstage. You sat down on the steps, trying to control your breathing. How could he- how can he say all that to you?

Does he not understand the pressure you’re under? Does he not understand how hard all of this is for you?

You really thought that after you told him about Qasim, after he assured he that he would help you out, that he would fix your problems-

I thought he understood. I thought he had my back.

You let out a shaky exhale, rubbing your chest to ease your ache. Why is it so hard to breathe all of a second?

Tonight, you didn’t invite Colin or Benny or any of the boys, and it only hit you now how truly lonely you were. There’s no Colin. No Benny. No friends. No family. No Qasim. No… Silas.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you alright?” Cadbury looked alarmed as he spotted you looking shell shocked, struggling to breathe.

“I… I cant-” You couldn’t speak, and the butler quickly took your nervous, trembling form in and sprung into action.

“Here, duchess- ma’am, drink this.” He brought you a cup of tea. “It’ll calm the nerves, ma’am. Drink it.”

You let the bitter, warm liquid slide down your throat without a second thought.

“You’ll be alright now, ma’am. You’ll be all… right.” The butler assured you kindly, helping you stand up. In just a matter of seconds, your anxiety had melted away and was replaced with… unbridled confidence.

“What did I just drink?” The words slipped out as you felt your heart beat faster. Your eyes snapped towards Cadbury. “What did you give me?” The words came out quickly.

“Nothing special. Its just tea to calm you.” He said, ushering you up the steps towards the stage curtains. “Are you ready now, ma’am?”

Your eyes zeroed in on the white particles on his collar. Like powder.

“Is that snow?” If you weren’t so hyper focused on his collar, it would concern you how fast you were talking. “Is it snowing outside already?”

Cadbury looked down on his collar and suppressed a smile. “Yes, duchess. You could say that. Now- please return your attention to your performance. We are all rooting for you.”

“Not Silas.” You snapped again, your eyes looking at the dark curtains as you take your position. “Not that twat.”

Cadbury’s brows shot up in shock. “Ma’am-”

“I’ll show that twat.” And then the curtains opened.

-

Silas sat down in his seat with a satisfied sigh. Everything is going according to plan. You’re nervous and he just chewed you out so the stage will now be empty because you’ve ran off to cry a river, the royal family will once again be embarrassed as they happily welcomed Silas and his Muslim wife into the family (by making them the duke and duchess) and with all the journalists he invited, the news will now spread like wildfire that Silas rejected a princess, Queen Victoria’s daughter to marry an embarrasment.

The princess was one upped by a fool. A commoner. A failed ballerina.

Did Silas feel bad for you? Just a little, because he didnt like the way you looked at him, hoping for support, maybe even motivation, only for him to break your heart. Broken hearts can be mended, but broken reputations? Nope.

Besides, he’s sure that when he buys the company from Henry and give it to you, you’ll forget all about it! Everything will work out just as he’d planned-

What the hell?

The curtain opened and instead of being met with an empty stage like he’d planned, there you stood in your white tutu skirt, face completely devoid of any expression.

What are you doing?

The pianist began playing a tune he didn’t recognise. Sarah did tell him that of the three songs you had chosen, there was one she hadn’t heard ever before. You’d worked with the pianist to get the tune right, and at that time, he was impressed at how much work you were putting into this.

As the music played, you began dancing. From what his grandmother had told him, he was expecting soft, gentle, shy dance.

And yet you were doing anything but that. Your movements were strong, powerful, determined. You were nothing like the woman whose hope he’d crushed just moments ago. You were all alone on that big stage, but you practically leaped from one side of the stage to the other, your legs faster than lightening.

By no means did you look like a mess, or that you didn’t know what your were doing. Your eyes were wide open, as if hyper aware of your surroundings and your audience. From beside him, Silas could hear his grandmother whispering the choreography.

“En pointe. En pointe. En pointe.” You were now dancing on the tip of your toes, and Silas could only imagine how painful, if not destructive this could be to your feet.

“Tendu. Chaine turn. Chaine turn. Pique manege.” Now, you were moving across the stage while making turns.

And finally, the big ending. “Pirouette. Pirouette. Keep spotting, Y/n. Pirouette.” Silas knew about the pirouettes. He watched you spin around your own axis, in a fixed position on a ground, your body moving first, your head later, your eyes focused on a spot in the dark so that you don’t lose your balance. You turned- 1,2,3, he lost count because you were turning too fast.

“34- was that 34 turns, Silas?”

Thirty four? Thirty four pirouettes?!

The performance ended with fouetté turns, which according to Sarah were about 28 and you exited the stage dancing en pointe, on the tip of your toes.

The ballet hall erupted in applause and cheers, and Silas stood up with everyone else to give a standing ovation to a now empty stage.

What the hell just happened?

-

Its hot. Its hot. I’m burning up!

As soon as you were off stage, of which you have no memory of your performance, you almost fell to the ground if it weren’t for strong arms catching you. And the moment your eyes caught sight of the broad shoulders, you instantly pushed yourself away, throwing yourself against the wall to support yourself.

“Careful there, love.” Henry grinned, clapping his hands in mocking manner. “That was quite the performance you gave, kitten. I’m very impressed.”

“What are you doing here?” You spat out, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. He tilted his head, amused at the sight of your flushed cheeks. “Silas invited me. He wanted to discuss business. I wonder if the little kitten went to her owner for help because she couldn’t scratch me with her tiny paws?”

“Owner?” You heaved a shaky breath. His smirk widened. “What else would you name it? He bought you to be his wife, because you know and I know that there isn’t and there never will be love between you two. He’s just using you. So drop the charade and come to me-” Henry caught your wrist before you could slap him, and while he may have stopped your physical assault, he wasn’t able to stop your verbal one.

“What would you know about love? You’re here, pursuing a married woman who has insulted you from the very first moment. Those skanks at your disgusting club have more self esteem than you do right now. You’re fucking pathetic and I’d rather eat a cactus and shit it out before I marry an entitled, emasculated prick like you. Fuck off!” You shoved him away and stormed out of there, unaware of just how much Henry wanted to wring your neck (just for a moment) and how a certain someone had overheard this little spat.

And he smiled proudly.

Good job, Y/n. He thought to himself.

-

“Fuck!” You screamed as you burst through the doors and landed out in the gardens, falling to the snowy ground, letting the ice cool your burning temperature.

How the hell am I burning up when its literally snowing?!

You grabbed a fistful of snow and threw it to your face, trying to cool down your body temperature. When that didnt work, you dove face first into the ground, before flipping on your back, letting the snow engulf your body from all sides. Your ballerina costume was thin and sheer as it could be, finally allowing the cold to creep into your skin and slowly into your bones.

Now that the adrenaline rush and whatever the hell was in that tea wore off, your body immediately went into fatigue and became aware of all the aches in your body, especially the pain in your feet. You tried to move, but your muscles didn’t budge. They were tired out, strained beyond their limits.

The cold suddenly became too unbearable and your teeth rattled. You tried to lift your head, tried to yell for help but it was like your mind had suddenly went autopilot and decided to shut down to let your body recover from its fatigue.

“No…” You whispered, as tears slipped out of your eyes. Everyone was inside, the party was loud, no one would even hear you scream for help even if you tried, no one would come to your aid. The realisation that you would freeze to death had you panicking, but alas, your brain refused to cooperate with you.

You heard the sound of footsteps and a glimmer of hope rose in you. Turning your head to the side took the last bit of energy, and your brain put you out of your misery when you saw the daunting shadowy figure that imprinted itself in your mind from the night of the murder.

The cloak, the top hat, a golden ring on his hand and the shiny glint of the knife.

The Ripper is here.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream before you blacked out.

So??? Thoughts??? Also nobody @ me for not putting a "keep reading" button because I had to edit 12k words TWICE on mobile, I have pulled an all nighters for yall. I have to go to clinic in loke 2 hours.

Yall better send comment and send ask.

Part 14 is here!